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FUN ERA L; 

OK, 

GRIEF A-LA-MODE; 



A 

COMEDY, 
By SIR RICHARD STEELE, 



ADAPTED FOR 

THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION, 

AS PERFORMED AT THE 

HEATRE-ROYAL, COV^NT-GARDEN, 



REGULATFD FROM THE PROMPT-BOOK, 

By Permimen of the Manager, 

lines distinguished by inverted Commas, are omitted n he Representation,, 

LONDON: 



Printed and published by 

eorge Cawthoan, ^a ' titearg, Strand 

BOOKSELLER AND PRINTER TOHiwl fOYAL HIGHN&SS 
THE PROCESS OF WALES, 



MDCCCUI. 



-5l»i 






7 ' 



PROLOGUE. 



■** ATURE's deserted and dramatic art, 
To dazzle now the eje, has left the heart $ 
Gay lights and dresses, long -extended scenes. 
Demons and Angels mowing in machine* $ 
All that can now, or please, or fright'thefalr, 
May be performed without a writers care, 
And is the skill of carpenter, not player. 
Old Skakspere's days could not thus far advance 3 
But what V his buskin to our ladder dance ? . 
In the mid region a silk youth to stand, . 

} With that unwieldy engine at command] 

G org" d with intemperate meals while . ereyousit, 

Well may you take activity for wit : 

Fte, let confusion on such dulness seize ; 

Blush you We so pleajd \ as we that so we please. 

But we, still kind toy Our inverted sense, 

JDy most unnatural things once more dispense, 

For since you're still preposterous in delight, 

Our author made ajull house to invite, 

A funeral comedy to-night. 

Nor does he fear that you will take the hint, 

And let the funeral his own be meant ; 

No, in old England, nothing can be won 

Without afaclion, good or ill be dene $ 

To own this cur frank author does not fear \ 

But hopes for a prevailing party here : [&, 

He knows h" has numerous friends, nay knows they'll shevj 

And for the It oiv -soldier save the poet. 



©raroatl* $3er£onae* 



COFENT-GARDEN. 



Men, 
Lord Brumpton, - - Mr. Powel. 

Lord Hardy, son to Lord Brumpton, Mr. Pope. 
Mr. Campley, - - Mr. Lewis. 

Mr. Trusty, Steward to Lord Brumpton, Mr. Hull. 



Cabinet, - 

Mr. Sable, an Undertaker, 

Puzzle, a Lawyer, 

Trim, Servant to Lord Hardy, 

Tom, the Lawyer's Clerk, 



Mr. Claremont. 
Mr. Quick. 

Mr. Munden. 

Mr. Fawcet. 
Mr. Blanchard. 

Women* 
Mrs. Mattocks; 



Lady Brumpton, 

Lady Charlotte, an Orphan, ward 

to Lord Brumpton, - - Miss Hopkins. 

Lady Har*i®t, her Sister, - Mrs.Esten. 

Mademoiselle D'Epingle, - Miss Leserve. 

Tattleaid, - - Miss Stuart. 

Mrs. Fardingdale, - - Mrs. Leicester. 

Kate Matchlock, 

Visitant Ladies, Sable's Servants, Recruits, &c. 
Scene Covent-Garden. 




THE 

FUNERAL. 



ACT 1. SCENE 1. 



Enter Cabinet, Sable, ^/^Campley. 

• 

Cabinet. 
I burst into laughter. I can't bear to see writ 
over an undertaker's door, Dresses for the dead, and 
j necessaries for funerals ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Sab. Well, sir, 't is very well, I know you are of 
the laughers, the wits that take the liberty to deride 
all things that are magniricent*and solemn. 

Cab. But is it not strangely contradictory, that men 
can come to so open, so apparent an hypocrisy, as, in 
the face of all the world, to hire professed mourners 
to grieve, lament, and follow in their stead, the 
nearest relations, and suborn others to do by art What 
they themselves should be prompted to by nature 

Sab. Alas ! sir, the value of all things under the 
sun is merely Fantastic $ we run, we strive, andpur- 
B 



6 THE FUNERAL. Aft'L 

chase things with our blood and money, quite foreign 
to our intrinsic real happiness, and which have a 
being id imagination only, as you may see by the 
pother th:?.t is made about precedence, titles, court- 
favours, maidenheads, and china-ware. 

Camp. Ay, Mr. Sable, but all those are objects that 
promote our joy, are bright to the eye, or stamp upon 
our minds pleasure and self-satisfaction. 

Sab. You are extremely mistaken — and there is 
often nothing more inwardly distressed, than a young 
bride in her glittering retinue, or deeply joyful, than 
a young widow in her weeds, and black train $ of both 
which, the lady of this house may be an instance, 
for she has been the one, and is, I *11 be sworn, the 
other. 

Cab, You talk, Mr. Sable, most learnedly. * 

Sab. I have the deepest learning, sir, experience; 
remember your widow cousin, that married last 
month. 

Cab. Ay, but how could you imagine she was in all 
grief an hypocrite! Could all those shrieks, those 
swoonings, that rising falling bosom be constrained ? 
Ycu 're uncharitable, Sable, to believe it : What co- 
lour, what reason had you for it ? 

• Sab. But as for her, nothing, she resolved, that 
looked bright or joyous should after her love's death 
approach her. All her servants that were not coal 
black must turn out ! a fair complexion made her eyes 
and heart ache, she'd none but downright jet, and to 
exceed all example, she hir'd my mourning furniture 



/. THE FUNERAL,.. 7 

b/*the year, and in case of my mortality ty"d my son 
to the same article ; so in six weeks time ran away 
with a young fellow. — Pr'ythee, push on briskly, 
Mr. Cabinet, now is your time to have this widow, 
for Tattleaid tells me, she always said she'd never 
marry—— 

Cab. As you say, that* s generally the most hopeful 
sign. 

Sab. I tell you, sir, "t is an infallible one; you. 
know those professions are only to introducediscourse 
cf matrimony and young fell : ws. 

Cab. Put I swear I could not have confidence, ev'n 
after all jsinlance, and the mutual love 

-which his lordship (who indeed has now been so kind 
as to leave us) has so long interrupted, to mention a 
thing of sucb :-■ nature %o lably ■ ■ 

Sab. tins ! why I tell you *t is the only 

season (granting her sorrow unfeigned :) when Would 
1 you speak of passion, but in the midst of passions*? 
there 's a what d^yt call a crisis — the lucky mi nute, 
that *sso talked of, is a moment between joy and grief, 
which you must take hold of and push yo-xt fortune^ 
But get you in, and you 'il 1 st i ;ad your .fete in the 
reception Mrs. Tattleaid gives you : all she cays, and 
all she d$es, nay, her very love and hatred are mere 
repetitions of her ladyship's passions : I % \\ say that for 
her, she -""s a true lady^s woman, and is herself as 
much a second-hand thing- as her $3thes. But I 
must beg your pardon, sir, my people are come, I sec. 
[Exit Cab. and Camp. Enter Sable's Lien.]— Where 
'Bij 



i *THEFUNERAt. A3 1 1 

in the name of goodness have you all been ! have you 
brought the sawdust and tar for embalming ? have 
you the hangings and the sixpenny nails, and my lord's 
coat of arms ? 

Enter Servant. 

Ser<v. Yes, sir, and had come sooner, but I went 
to the herald's for a coat for Alderman Gathergrease 
that died last night— -he has promised to invent one 
against to-morrow. 

Sab. Ah ! pox take some of our cits, the first thing 

after their death is to take care of their birth pox, 

let him bear a pair of stockings, he is the first of his 
family that ever wore one; well, come you that arc 
to be mourners in this house put on your sad looks, 
and walk by me that I rm:y sort you. Ha, you! a 
little more upon the 'dismal ; [forming their counte- 
nances.] — this fellow has a good mortal look — place 
him near the corpse ; that wainscot face mu^st be o'top 
of the stairs; that fellow 's almost in a fright (that 
looks as if he we were full of some strange misery) at 
the entrance of the hall — So — but I 'it fix you all my- 
self — Let 's have no laughing now on any provocation j 
[makes faces.'] Look yonder, that hale well-looking 
puppy ! You ungrateful scoundrel, did not I pity you, 
take you out of a great man's service, and shew you 
the pleasure of receiving wages? Did not I give you 
ten, then fifteen, now twenty shillings a week, to be 
sorrowful? and the more I give you, I think, the 
gladder you are; 



ABL THE FUNERAL. 9 

Enter a Boy. 
Boy. Sir, the grave-digger of St. Timothy's in the 
Fields would speak with you. 
Sab. Let him come in. 

Enter Grave-digger. 
Gram. I carried home to your house the shroud the 
gentleman was buried in last night ; I could not get 
his ring off very easily, therefore I brought you the 
finger and all ; and, sir, the sexton gives his service 
to you, :*nd desires to know whether you'd have any 
; bodies remov'd or not : if not^ he '11 let them lie in 
their graves a week longer. 
Sab. Give him my service. 

Enter Goody Trash. 

I wonder, Goody Trash, you could not be more 
punctual j when I told you I wanted you, and your 
two daughters, to be three virgins to-night to stand in 
white about my Lady Catherine Grissel's body, and 
you know you were privately to bring her home from 
the man-midwife's, where she died in child-birth, to 
.'be buried like a maid ; but there is nothing minded: 
well, I have put off that till to-morrow ; go, and get 
your bags of brick-dust and your whiting. Go, and 
sell to the cook-maids $ know who is surfeited about 
town j bring me no bad news, none of your recoveries 
again. [Exit Goody Trash,] And you, Mr. Block- 
head, I warrant you have not call'd at Mr. Pestle's the 



30 THE FUNERAt. Aft U 

apothecary : will that fellow never pay me ? I stand 
bound for all the poison in that starving murderer's 
shop ? he serves me just as Dr. Quibus did, who pro- 
mised 'to write a treatise against water gruel, a damrfd 
healthy slop that has done me more injury than all the 
faculty : look you now, you are all upon the sneer, 
let me have none but downright stupid countenances — i 
I 've a good mind to turn you all off, and take people 
cut of the playhouse; but hang them, they are as ig- 
norant of their parts as you are of yours; they never 
act but when they speak ; when the chief indication of 
the mind is in the gesture, or indeed in case of sorrow, 
in no gesture, except you were to act a widow, or so 
— -but yours, you dolts, is all in dumb show, dumb 
show. I mean expressive elegant show : as who can 
see such an horrid ugly phiz as that fellow's, and not 
be shocked, offended, and killed cf all joy while he 
beholds it ? But we must not loiter — Ye stupid rogues, 
whom I have picked cut of the rubbish of mankind, 
and fed for your eminent worthlessness, attend, ami 
know that I speak you this moment stiff and immuta- 
ble to all sense of noise, mirth or laughter; [Makes 
mouths at tr em as they pass by him to bring them to a 
constant countenance.} So, they are pretty well— pretty 
well [Exit* 

Enter Trusty and Lord Brumptok. 
Trusty. 'T was fondness, sir, and tender duty to 
you, who have been so worthy and so just a master to 



AflL THE FUNERAL. II 

me. made me stay near you ; they left me so, and 
there I found yen wake from your lethargic slumber j 
# on which I will assume an authority to beseech you, 
to make just use of your revived life, in seeing who 
are your tiue friends, and knowing her who has so 
wrought upon your noble hatiir •:, as to make it acl: 
against itself in disinheriting your brave son. 

L. Brump. Sure 't is impossible she should be such a 
creature as you tell me— My mind reflects upon ten 
thousand endearments that plead unanswerably for 
her : her chaste reluctant love, her easy observance of 
all my wayward humours, to which she would accom- 
modate herself with so much ease, I could scarce ob- 
serve it was a virtue in her; she hid her very patience. 

Trusty, It was all art, sir, or indifference* to you 5 
for what I say is downright matter of fact. 

L. Brump. Why didst thou ever teii me it! or why 
not in my life-time, for I must call it so, nor can I 
date a minute mine, after her being false 5 all past that 
moment is de-ith and darkness : Why didst thou not 
tell me then, \ say ? 

Trusty. Because* you were too much in love with her 
to be infornfd 5 I must, I will conjure you to be con- 
ceafd, and but contain yourself m hearing one dis- 
course with that cursed instrument cf all her secrets, 
that Tattleaid, and you will see what I tell you ; you 
will call me then your guardian and gocd genius. 

L. Brump. Well, you shall govern me, but would I 
had dkd in earnest ere I had known it 5 my head 



Zl THE FUNERAL. A3 L 

swims, as it did when I fell into my fit, at the thoughts 
of it: — All human life 's a mere vertigo ! 

Trusty, Ay, ay, my lord, fine jseiie&ions, fine re- 
flections, but that does no business. Thus, sir, we '11 
stand concealed, and hear, I doubt not, a much sin- 
cerer dialogue than usual between vicious persons ; 
for a late accident has given a little jealousy, which 
makes them over-act their love and confidence in each 
other. [Tkey retire. 

Enter Widow and Tattleaid meeting> and running 
to each other. 

Wid. Oh, Tattleaid 1 his and our hour is come ! 

Tat, I always said by his church-yard cough, you *d 
bury him* but still you were impatient 

Wtd, Nay, thou hast ever been my comfort, my 
confident, my friend, and my servant : and now 1 '11 
reward thy pains ; for tho' I scorn the whole sex of 
fellows, I '11 give them hopes for thy sake $ every 
smile, every frown, every gesture, humour, caprice, 
and whimsy of mine, shall be gold to thee, girl ; thou 
shalt feel all the sweets and wealth of being a fine 
rich widow's woman. Oh ! how my head runs my 
first year out, and jumps to all the joys of widowhood j 
if thirteen months hence a friend should haul one to a 
play one has a mind to see, what pleasure 't will be, 
when my Lady Brampton's footman's called, who kept 
a place for that very purpose, to make a sudden in-^ 
surreelion of fine wigs in the pit and side-boxes. 
Then, with a pretty sorsow in one's face,, and a ml* 



Afil. THE FUNERAL. ig 

ling blush for being stared at, one ventures to look 
round, and bow to one of one's own quality: Thus 
[fvery direSily] to a snug pretending fellow of no for- 
tune. Thus [as scarce seeing him] to one that writes 
lampoons: Thus [fearfully] to one one really loves. 
Thus [looking down] to one woman acquaintance : 
from box to box thus [with looks differently familiar. I 
Then the serenades ! the lovers ! 

Tat. Oh, madam, you make my heart bound with- 
in me. I Ml warrant you, madam, I '11 manage them 
all; and, indeed, madam, the men are really very 
silly creatures, 'tis no such hard matter— They rulers ! 
they governors ! I warrant you, indeed ! 

Wid. Ay, Tattleaid, they imagine themselves 
fhighty things, I laugh to see men go on our errands : 
strut in great offices, live in care?, hazards and scan- 
dals, to come home and be fools to us in brags cf their 
dispatches and negotiations, and their wisdoms — as 
my good deceas'd used to entertain me 5 which, 
I to relieve myself from — would lisp some silly iequest, 

pat him on the face Tie shakes his head at my 

* pretty folly, calls me simpleton — gives me a jewel, 
then goes to bed so wise, so satisfied, and so de- 
ceived——- 

Tat. But I protest, madam, I *ve always wondered 
' how you could accomplish my young lord's being 
disinherited. 

f/U. Why, Tatty, you must know my late lord — 
how prettily that sounds, my lace lord ! but I say, 
my late Lord Fribble was generosity — I pressed him 



54 • THE FUNERAL. t AH L 

there, and whenever you, by my order, Tiad told him 
stories to my son-in-law's disadvantage, in his rage 
and resentment, I (whose interest lay otherwise) al- 
ways fell en my knees to implore his pardon, and 
with tears, sighs, and importunities for him prevailed 
against him : besides this, you know I had, when I 
pieased,?fits. — Fits are a mighty help in the government 
of a good-natured man. 

Tat. O rare madam! your ladyship's a great head- 
piece 5 but now, dear madam, is the hard task, if I 
may take the liberty to say it— —to enjoy all freedoms 
and seem to abstain j but now, madam, a fine you n^ 
gentleman with a red coat, that dances— 

Wid. You raay*be sure the happy man (if it be in 
fate that there is a happy man to make me an unhappy 
woman) shall not be.an old one again j but the day is 
now my own— -Yet now I think on 't, Tattleaid, be 
sure to keep an obstinate shyness to all our old ac- 
quaintance. 

Tat. Ay, madam— -I believe, madam-— I speak, 
madam, but my humble sense-- -Mr. Cabinet would 
marry you. 

Wid, Marry me ! No, Tattleaid, he that is so mean 
as to marry a woman after an affair with her, will be 
so base as to upbraid that very weakness. 

Enter a Servant. 
Ser<v* A gentleman to Mrs. Tattleaid-— [Exit Tat. 
Wid. Go to him.— Bless me how careless and open 
have I been to this subtle creature in the case of Ca- 



Jfil. TKH FUNERAL. I 5 

binet, she *s certainly in his interests. How miserable 
it is to have one one hates always about one, and when 
one can 't endure one's own reflection upon some ac- 
tions, who can bear the thoughts of another upon 
them ? but she has me by deep secrets - 
Enter Tattle aid. 

Tat. Madam, counsellor Puzzle is come to-wait on 
your ladyship about the will and the conveyance of 
the estate— there must, it seems, be no time lost for 
fear of things ; f/e, fye, madam, you a widow these 
three hours, and not look'd on a parchment yet-. -Oh 
impious to neglect the will of the dead ! 

Wid. As you say indeed, there is no will of a hus- 
band's so willingly obeyed as his last. But I must go 
in and receive him in my formalities ; leaning on a 
couch is a necessary posture, as his going behind his 
desk when he speaks to a client— But do you bring 
him in hither till I am ready [Exit. 

Tat. Mr. Counsellor, Mr. Counsellor— [Calling. 
Enter Puzzle and Clerk. 

Puz. Servant, good madam Tattleaid, my ancient 
friend is gone, but business must be minded 

Tat. I told my lady twice or thrice, as she lies in 
dumb grief on the couch within, that you were here, 
but she regarded me not ; however, since you S3y it 
1s of such moment, I'll venture to introduce you; 
please but to repose here a little, while I step in 5 for 
methinks I would a little prepare her. 

f0JB5,A!as! alas! poor lady I [Exit Tattleaid. 



l£ THE FUNERAL. AVI. 

Damn'd hypocrites ; well this nobleman's death is a 
little sudden : therefore pray let me recollect : open 
the bag, good Tom. Now, Tom, thou art my nephew, 
my dear sister Kate's only son, and my heir, therefore 
I will conceal from thee on no occasion any thing; 
for I would enter thee into business as soon as possible. 
Know then 3 child, that the lord of rhis house was one 
of your men of honour, and sense, who lose the lat- 
ter in the former, and are apt to take all men to be 
like themselves ; now this gentleman entirely trusted 
me, and I made the only use a man of business can of 
a trust, I cheated him ; for I imperceptibly, before 
his face, made his whole estate liable to an hundred 
per annum for myself, for good services, &c. As for 
legacies, they are good or not, as I please; for let me 
tell you, a man must take pen, ink, and paper, sit 
down by an old fellow, and pretend to take directions, 
but a true lawyer never makes any man's will but his 
own ; and as the priest of old among us got near the 
dying man, and gave all to the church, so now the 
la wye. gives ail to the law. 

. Clerk. Ay, sir, but priests then cheated the nation, 
by doing their offices in an unknown language* 

Puz. True — but ours is a way much surer, for we 
cheat in no language at all, but loll in our own 
coaches, elegant in gibberish, and learned in jingle. 
PuL out the parchment ; there's the dctd $ I made it 
as long as I could — —Well, I hops to see the day* 
when the indenture shall be the exact measure of the 
feaud that passes by it 5 for 't is a discouragement to 



AEll. THE FUNERAL. 17 

the gown, that every ignorant rogue of an heir should 
in a word or two understand his father's meaning, and 
hold ten acres of land by half ati acre of parchment — 
Nay> I hope to see the time when that there is indeed 
some progress made in, shall be w he Vy effected ; and 
by the improvement of the noble art of tautology, 
every inn in Halborn an inn of court. Let others think. 
.of logic, rhetoric, and I know not what impertinence, 
but mind thou tautology — -What *s the first excellence 
in a lawyer ? Tautology. What 's the second ? Tau- 
tology. What's the third? Tautology; as an old 
pleader said of action. But to turn to the deed- — Pulls 
cut an immeasurable parchment.'] for the will is of no 
force if I please, for he was not capable of making one 
after the former, as I managed -it — upon which account 
I now wait on my lady — by the way, Tom, do you 
know the true meajiing of the word a dscd ? 
! Clerk* Ay, sir, as if a man should say the deed. 

P:tz. Right; 't is emphatically so called, because 
after it all deeds and actions are of no efiecr, and you 
have nothing to do but hang yourself — the only oblig- 
ing thing you can then do. But I was telling you the 
y use of -tautology — Refed towards the middle of that 
instjument. 

Clerk, [Reads.] I the said Earl of Brumpton, do 
fcive, i estow, giant, and bequeath, over ;nd above 
ithe srAd premises, all the site and capital messuage,, 
calied by the name of Oatham, and all out-houses, 
barns, stables, and other edifices and buildings, yards", 
;<>rchards, gardens, fields, arbors, trees, lands? earths* 
C 



lS THE FUNERAL. Atl I. 

meadows, greens, pastures, feedings, woods, under- 
woods, ways, waters* water-courses, fairing-ponds 
pools, commons, common of pasture, paths, he~ath- 
thickets, profits, commodities, and emoluments, with 
their and every of their appurtenances whatsoever, to 
the said capital messuage and cite belonging, or in any- 
wise appertaining, or with the same "heretofore used, 
occupied, or enjoyed, accepted, executed, known, or 
taken as part, parcel, or member of the same ; con- 
taining in the whole, by estimation, four hundred acres 
of the large measure, or thereabouts, be the same more 
or less j all and singular which the * id site, capital 
messuage, and other the premises, with their and every 
of their appurtenances, are situate, lying and being--. 
[Puzzle nods and sneeers as the synonimous "words are 
re/ eating, whom L. Brumpton scornfully mi?nics, 
Puz. Hold, hold, good Tom j you do come on in- 
deed in business, but do n't use your ncsa enough in 
reading-— [Reads in a ridiculous law tone till out ofbreuth.] 
—Why, you 're quite out 5 you read to be understood 
—let me see it — I the said enrl-— — -Now again, suppose 
this were to be in latin- --{Runs into Latin terminations ."] 
Making Latin is only making it no English — — Ego 

pradicl—Comes de Brumpton iotas meas bamos 

outhousas & stabulas—yardos — —Bur there needs no 
' further perusal. I now recollect the whole— -my lord, 
* by this instrument, disinherits his son utterly, gives 
all to my lady ; and moreover, grants the guardianship 
of two fortune wards to her— id est, to be sold by her, 
which is the subject of my business to her ladyship. 



AB 1* THE FUNERAL. 19 

who, ^methinks, a little overdoes the aftair of grief, in 
letting me wait thus long on such welcome articles— 
But here — ■ 

Enter Tattleaid, wiping her eyes. 

Tat. I have, in vain, done all I can to make her 
regard me. Pray, Mr. Puzzle, you re a man of sense, 
come in yourself, and speak reason, to bring her to 
some consideration of herself, if possible. 

Pu%. Tom, I '11 come down to the hall to you ; 
dear madam, lead on. 

[Exit Clerk one wayi Puz. and Tat. another. 

[Lord Bi umpton and Trusty advance from their con- 

cealmenty after a lotfg pause, and staring at each other.] 

L. Brump. Trusty, on thy sincerity, on thy fidelity 
to me thy friend, thy patron, and thy master, answer 
me direclly to one question— Am I really alive ? Ami 
that identical, that numerical, that very same Lord 
Brumpton, that— 

Trusty. That very lord— that very Lord Brumpton, t 
the very generous, honest, and good Lord Brumpton, 
who spent his strong and riper years with honour 
and reputation ; that very Lord Brumpton, who buried 
a fine lady, who brought him a fine son, who is a fine 
gentleman ; but in his age, that very-man, unseasonably 
captivated with youth and beauty, married a very fine 
young lady, who has dishonoured his bed, disinherited 
Lis brave son, and dances o'er his grave. 

L. Brump. Oh, that damn'd tautologist tool- 
That Puzzle, and his irrevocable deed;— [Pausing.]— . 
Cij 



SO THE FUNERAL.' Aft 11. 

Well, I know I do not really live, but wander o'er the 

place where once I had a treasure- 1 '11 haunt her, 

Trusty, gaze in that false beauteous face, till she 
trembles, till she looks pale, nay, till she blushes- 

Trusty. Ay, ay, my lord, you speak a ghost very 
much 5 there 's flesh and blood in that expression— 
that false beauteous fwice ! 

L. Brump. Then, since you see my weakness, be a 
friend, and arm me with all your care, and ail your 
reason— 

Trusty. If you Ml condescend to let me direct you, 
you shall cut off this rotten lirnb, this fake, disloyal 
wife, and save your noble parts, your son, your family, 
your honour. 

Short is the date in which ill acls prevail, 

But honesty V a rock can never fail. [Exeunt, 



ACT II. SCENE I. 



Enter Lord Hardy. 



Lord Hardy. 
Now, indeed, I am utterly undone—— but to ex- 
pec! an evil softens the weight of it when it happens ; 
and pain, no more than pleasure, is in reality so great 
as in expectation. But what will become of me?— 
How shall I keep myself even above worldly want ?— 
Shall I live at home, a stiff, melancholy, poor man of 



AB 11. THE FUNERAL. 21 

quality ; grow uneasy to my acquaintance as well as 
myself, by fancying I am slighted where I am not : 
with all the thousand particularities which attend these 
whom low fortune and high spirit make malcontents ? 
No! ue have a brave prince on the throne, whose 
commission I bear, and a glorious war in an honest 
.cause approaching, [clapping his hand on his sword.] 
in which this shall cut out bread for me, and may, per- 
haps, equaUthat estate to which my birth entitled me 
—But what to do in present pressures ---Ha, Trim J 

[€ ailing* 

Enter Trim. 

Trim. My lord I 

L. Hardy, How do the poor rogues that are to recruit 
my company? 

Trim. Do, sir ? They have eat you to your last 
guinea. 

L. Hardy. Were you at the agent's? 

Trim. Yes. 

L. Hardy. Well, and how? 

Trim. Why, sir, for your a rears, yon may have 
eleven shillings in the pound 5 but he Ml not touch 
your growing subsistence u^der three shillings in the 
pound interest j besidt ,vhich, you must let his clerk, 
Jonathan Item, swear tb oeac gainst you, to keep 
you fijom du-liing ; c nsure your life, which you 
may do for eight per cent. On t si erms he '11 oblige 
you, which he would not do foi bod) else in the 

regiment $ but he has • friendshi tor you, 
Ciij 



22 THE FUNERAL. ABU. 

L. Hardy. Oh, I am his humble servant ! but he must 
have his own terms ; we can't starve, ncr must the fel- 
lows want. But methinks this is a calm midnight} I 
have heard no duns to-day. 

Trim. Duns, my lord ! Why, now your father 's 
dead, and they can't arrest you, I slfall grow a little* less 
upon the smooth with them than I have been. Why, 
friend, says I, how often must I tell you my lord is not 
stirring? His lordship has not slept well, you must 
come some other time j your lordship will send for him 
when you are at leisure to look upon money affairs ; or 
if they are so saucy, so impertinent as to press a man 
of your quality for their own, there are canes, there 's 
Bridewell, there 's the stocks for your ordinary trades- 
men} but to an haughty, thriving, Covent Garden mer- 
cer, silk, or lacernan, your lordship gives your most 
hnmble service to him, hopes his wife is well : you 
have letters to write, or you would see him yourself} but 
you desire he would be with you punctually on such a 
day, that is to say, the day after you are gone out of 
town. 

L. Hardy* Go, sirrah, you are scurrilous : I won't 
believe there are such men of quality— -d'ye hear, give 
my service this af tern oon*to Mr. Cutpurse, the agent, 
and tell him I am obliged to pay him for his readiness 
to serve me, for I am resolved to pay my debts forth- 
with — - 

[A 'voice without.] I do n't know whether he is 
within or not. Mr. Trim, is my lord within ? 

L. Hardy \ Trim, see who it is 3 I am not within, 
you know ■ 



r Att 1L THE FUNERAL. 23 

Trim, [Without.] Yes, sir, my lord is above ; pray 
walk up 

L. Har. Who can it be j he owns me too. 

Enter Campley and Trim. 

Dear Tom Campley, this is kind —You are an ex- 
traordinary man, indeed, who, in the sudden accession 
of a noble fortune, can still be yourself, and visit your 
less happy friends. 

Camp. No, you are, my lord; the extraordinary 
man, who, on the loss of an almost princely fortune, 
can be master of a temper that makes you the envy, 
rather than pity of your more fortunate, not more 
happy friends. 
. L. Har. Oh, sir, your servant !— -But let me gaze on 

thee a litrle 1 ha n't seen thee since we came home 

into England — most exacTly, negligently, genteely 
dressed — I know there is more than ordinary in this. 
[Beating Campley's breast.] Come, confess who shares 
with me here. I must have her real and poetical name 
—Come, she is in sonnet, Cynthia 3 in prose, 



rmstress 

Camp. One you little dream of 5 tho' she is in a 
manner of your placing there. 

L. Har, My placing there I 

Camp. Why, my lord, all the fine things you have 
said to me in the camp of my lady Charlotte, your 
father's' ward, ran in my head so very much, that I 
made it my business to become, acquainted in that 



24 THE FUNERAL* AB U. 

family, which I dfd by Mr. Cabinet's means, and ?un 
now in love in the same place with your lordship. 

£. Har. How ! in love in the same place with me, 
Mr- Campley? 

Camp. Ay, my lord, with t' other sister, with 
t* other sister. 

L. Har What a dunce was I, not to know which, 
without your naming her? Why thou art the only 

man breathing fit to deal wjfh her But my Lady 

Charlotte ; there 's a woman ! so easily virtuous 5 

so agreeably severe $ her motion so unaffected, yet so 
composed ; her lips breathe nothing but truth, good 
sense, and flowing wit. 

Camp. Ladyilarriot ; there 's the woman! Her lips 
are made of gum ano\balm — There is something in 
that dear girl that fires my blood above — above — 
above — 

L. Har. Above what ? 

Camp. A grenadier's march. 

L. Har. A soft simile, I must confess- But, Oh, 

that Charlotte! to recline this aching head, full of 
cnre, on that tender, snowy, faithful bosom 

Camp. Oh, that Harriot ! to embrace that beau- 
tireo^s ■ ■» ■ ■ ■■ ■ 

L. Har. Ay, Tom ; but mcthinks your head runs 
too much on the wedding night only, to make your 
happiness lasting : mine is fixed on the married state ; 
I 'txpecl my felicity from Lady Charlotte, in her 
friendship, her constancy, her piety, her houshold 
cares, her maternal tenderness- — But tell me, I won- 



A£l II. THE FUNERAL: 25 

der how you make your approaches in be^eging such 
a sort of creature 5 she that loves addresses, gallantry, 
fiddles j that reigns and delights in a crowd of ad- 
mirers. If I know her, she is one o those yen may 
easily have a general acquaintance with, but hard to 
make particular. 

Camp. You understand her very well — You must 
know, I put her out of all her play, by carrying it in 
.a humorous manner ; I took care in all my actions, 
before I discovered the lover, that she should in ge- 
neral, have a good opinion of me : so that she is now 
extremely at a loss how to throw me from the familia- 
rity of an acquaintance, into the distance of a lover; 
but I laugh her out of it $ when she begins to frewn, 
and look grave at my mirth,; I mimic her till she 
bursts out a laughing. 

I. Har. That 's ridiculous enough. 

Camp. By Cabinet's interest over my Lady Brump- 
ton, with gold and flattery to Mrs. Fardingale, an 
old maid her ladyship has placed about the young 
ladies, I have easy access at all times, and am this 
very day to be admitted by her into their apartment 
—I have found, you must know, that she is my 
relation. 

L. Har. Her ladyship has chose an odd companion 
for young ladies. 

Camp. Oh, my lady's a politician; she told Tat- 
tleaid one day, that an old maid was the best guard 
for young ones ; for they, like eunuchs in a seraglio, 
are vigilant out of envy of enjoyment they cannot 



i£ THE FUNERAL. Aft U. 

themselves arrive at. But, as I was saying, I have 
sent my cousin Fardingale a song, which she and [ 
are to piaclice to the spinnet — The young ladies 
will be by, and I am to be left alone with Lady 
Harriot. If you Mi meet me at Tom's, have a letter 
ready, I will, myself, deliver it to your mistress, 
conducl you into the house, and tell her you are there, 
and find means to place yon together. You must 
march under my command to day, as I have many a 
one under yours. 

L. liar. But, faith, Tom, I shall not behave my- 
self with half the resolution you have under mine 5 
for, to confess my weakness, though I know she loves 
me, though I know she is stedfastly mine, as her 
heart can make her, I know jiot how, when I am near 
her tiiat my tongue falters, my nerves shake, and my 
heart so alternately' sinks and rises, that my pre- 
meditated resolves vanish into confusion, down-cast 
eyes, and broken utterance.—— 

Camp* Ha, ha, ha I this is a campaigner too! Why, 
tr.y lord, that s the condition Harriot would have 
me in, and then she thinks she could have me; but 
I, that know her better than she does herself — But I 
shall make her no such sacrifice. *T is well my lady 
Charlotte's a woman of so solid an understanding 5 I 
do n't know another that would not use you ill for 
your high value. 

L. Har. But, Tom, I must see your song you have 
sent your cousin Fardingale, as you call her. 

Camp. This is lucky enough— [Aside.] — No, hang 



Aft II. THE FUNERAL, ZJ 

i * 

it, my lord, a man makes so silly a figure when his 
j< verses are reading — Trim, thou hast not left off thy 
loving and thy rhyming $ Trim's a critic : I remember 
him a servitor at O'xon: {Giving a paper to Trim.] I 
give myself into his hands, because you sha n't see 
( them till I am gone« — -My lord, your servant —you 
sha n't stir. 

L. Har. Nor you neither, then, {Struggling. 

Camp. You will be obeyed. 

[Exeunt ; Lord Hardy ivaits on him dowm 

Trim. What is in this song— Ha !— do n't my eyes 

deceive me ?— -a bill of three hundred pounds ! [&ads^ 

< Mr. Cash, 

Pray pay lo Mr. William Trim, or bearer, the sum 

of three hundred pounds, and place it to the account 

of Sir, 

Your humble servant, 

Thomas Campley.* 
[Pulling off bis hat and bowing.'} Your very humble 
servant, good Mr. Campley. Ay, this is poetry ; 
this is a song indeed—Faith, I '11 set it, and sing it 

myself Pray pay to Mr. William Trim — — so far 

in recitative — Three hundred- — [Singing ridiculously.'] 

— bun — dred — hundred — -Hundred thrice repeated, 

\ because 't is three hundred pounds 5 I love repetitions 

in music, when there is a good reason for it * 

Po — — — ds, after the Italian manner. If fh?y would 
bring me such sensible words as these, I would outstrip 
all your composers for the music prize. This w?s 
ixmestly dont of Mr. Campley : though I have carrk4 



28 THE FUNERAL. AB II. 

him many a purse from my master, when he was en- 
sign to our company in Flanders. 

Re-enter Lord Hardy. 

My lord, I am your lordship's humble servant. 

L. Har. Sir, your humble servant. But, pray, my 
good familiar friend, how came you to be so vQiy much 
my humble servant all of a sudden ? 

Trim. Ib:g pardon, dear sir ; my lord, I am not 
your humble servant.* 

L. Ear. No ? 

Trim, Yes, my lord, I am 5 but not as you mean— 
btjt I am — I am, my lord In short, I am over- 
joyed. 

\s.Har. Ove? joyed! thou art distracted What 

ails the fellow ? Where is Campley's song? 

Trim. Oh, my lord one would not think it was in 
him ! Kir. Campley is really a very great poet — As 
for the song, it is only as they all end in rhyme — owe, 
woe j isses, kisses ; boy, joy — but, my lord, the other 
in long heroic blank verse : [Reading it with a great 
tone.] Fray pay to Mr. William Trim, or order, the 

sum of How sweetly it runs ! — Pactolian guineas 

chink in every line. 

L. Ear. How very handsomely this was done in 
Campley I I wondered, indeed, lie was so willing to 
shew his verses. In how careless a manner that fel- 
low does the greatest actions ! 

Trim. My lord, pray, my lord, sha n't I go immedi- 
ately to Cutpurse's ? 



Jfl \l % THE FUNERAL. 29 

L» Har. No, sirrah ; now we have no occasion for 

it. 

"Trim, No, my lord, only to stare him full in the 
face after 1 have received this money, not say a word, 
but keep my hat on, and walk out : or, perh'aps, not 
hear, if any I meet with speak to me ; but grow stiff, 
deaf, and shortsighted to all my old acquaintance, like 
a sudden rich man as lam; or perhaps, my lord, de- 
sire Cufpune"s clerk to let me leave fifty pounds at 
their house, payable to Mr. William Trim, or order- 
till I come that way— or a month or two hence, may 
have occasion for it— I. do n't know what bills may be 
drawn upon me— Them when the clerk begins to 
| stare at me, till he pulls the great goose quill from be- 
hind his ear, [Pulls a handful of farthings^ out.] I fall 
a reckoning the pieces,- as I do these farthings. 

L, Har. We]/, sirrah, you may have your humour, 
but be sure you take fourscore pounds, and pay my 
debts immediately— if you meet any officer you ever 
see me in company with, thatlooks graveat QitpurseU 
house, tell him I'll speak with him— We must help our 
friends— But learn moderation, you rogue, in your 
good fortune} be at home all the evening after, while 
I wait at Pom's to meet Campley, in order to see lady 

Charlotte 

My good or ill in her alone is found ', 

And in that thought all other cares are dro%vn"d. 

[Exit. 

Trim, Oh dear, dear, three hundred pounds. [Exit. 
D 



3« • THE FUNERAL. AB IL 

Enter Sable, Lord Brumtton, and Trvsty. 

Sab. Why, my lord, you can't in conscience put me 
off so j I must do according to my orders, cut you up, 
and embalm you, except you '11 come down a little 
deeper than you talk of; you do n't consider the charges 
I 've been at already. 

'L.Brump. Charges! for what? 

Sab. First, twenty guineas to my lady's woman for 
notice of your death (a fee I 've before now known the 
widow herself go halves in), but no matter for that — in 
the next place, ten pounds for watching you all your 
long fit of sickness last winter— 

L. Brump. Watching me * Why, I had hone but | 
my own servants by turns. 

Sab. I mean attending to give notice of your death, 
I had all your long fit of sickness, last winter, at half a 
crown a day, a fellow waiting at your gate to bring me 
intelligence, but you unfortunately recovered, and I 
lost all my obliging pains for your service. 

L. Brump. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Sable, thou 'rt a very im- 
pudent fellow. Haifa crown a day to attend my de- 
cease, .and dost thou reckon it to me-? 

Sab. Look you, gentlemen, do n't stand staring at 
me— I have a book at home, which I call my -dooms- 
day-book, where I have every man of quality's age 
and distemper in town, and know vytien you should 
drop— —Nay, my lord, if you had reflected upon your 
mortality, half so much as poor I have for you, you 
weld not desire to return to life thus-*-*— in short, 



A3 H. THE FUNERAL. %1 

I cannot keep this a secret under the whole money I 
am to have for burying you. 

L. Brump* Trusty, if you think it safe in you to 
obey my orders after the deed Puzzle told hi3 clerk of, 
pay it him — — 

'Trusty* I should be glad to give it out of my own 
pocket, rather than be without the satisfaction of seeing 
you witness to it. 

L. Brump. I heartily believe thee, dear Trusty 

Sab. Then, my lord, the secret of your being alive 
is now safe with me. 

Trustj. I '11 warrant I *ll be reveng'd of this uncon- 
scionable dog. — [Aside.] — —My lord, you must to 

your closet 1 fear somebody 's earning — 

[Exeunt Sab. oneway, and L. Brumpt. and Trusty 
another. 



SCENE II. 



")ra<zvs and discovers Lady Charlotte reading at a 
Table— —Lzdy Harriot playing at a glass to and 
fro, and <vie<wi?ig herself. 

Lady Har. Nay, good sage sister, you may as well 
talk to me, [looking at herself as she speaks] as sit star- 
ing at a book, which I know you can't attend « 
Good Dr. Lucas may have writ there what he pleases, 
but there 's no putting Francis Lord Hardy, now Ea> 1 
ofBrumpton, out of your head, or making him absent 
Dij 



35 THF FUNERAL. Acl 11. 

from your eyes. Do but look on me now, and deny 
it at you can. 

Lady Char, You arc the maddest girl [Smiling* 

Lady Har. Look ye, I knew you could not say it 
and forbear laughing — [Looking over Charlotte,] — Oh 

I see bis name as plain as you do F — r — a — n 

Fran, c— i — s cis, Francis, 'tis in every line of the 
book. 

Lady Char. [Rising.'] 'T is in vain, I see, to mind 
any thing in such impertinent company — but granting 
*t were as you say, as .to my Lord Hardy, 'tis more 
excusable to admire another than one's sel f ■ 

Lady Har. No, I think not — Yes, I grant you than 
really to be vain at one's person, but I do n"i admire 
myself—— Pish ! I do n't believe my eyes have that 
softness- — [Looking in ike glass, [ They an't so piercing : 
no, 't is only sturf, the men will be talking— — Some 
people are such admirers of teeth— -Lord, what signifies 
teeth! [Shewing her teeth.'] A very btack-a-moor has 

as white teeth as I - * — No, sister, I do n t admire 

royself, but I *ve a spirit of contradiction in me : you 
do n't know I 'm in love with myself, only to rival the 
men. 

Lady Char. Ay, but Mr. Campley wili gain ground 
ev'n of that rival of his, your dear self— — «- 

Lady Har. Oh, what have I done to you, that you 
should name that insolent intruder — A confident opi- 
nionative fop— No, indeed, if I am, as a poetical 
lover of mine sighed and sung of both sexes — 
The public envy and the public care* 



An IL THE FUNERAL. 33 

I shan't be so easily catcbed^I thank him — I want 
'but to be sure, I should heartily torment him by ba- 
nishing him, and hen consider whether he should de- 
part this life or not. 

Lady Char, Indeed, sister, to be serious with you, 
: this vanity in your humour does not at all become you. 

Lady Har. Vanity I All the matter is, we gay people 
are more sincere than you wise folks : all your life 'g 
an art— Speak your soul— Look you there— [Hauling 
her to the glass,'] Are you not struck with a secret plea- 
sure, when you view that bloom in your look, that 
harmony in your shape, that promptitude of your 
mien ! 

Lady Char, Well, simpleton, if I am at first so silly 
as to be a little taken with myself, I know it a fault, 
and take pains to correct it. 

Lady Har. Pshaw! pshaw! talk this musty tale to 
old Mrs. Fardingale, 'tis too soon for me to think at 
that rate. 

Lady Char. They that think it too soon to under- 
stand themselves, will very soon find it too late-— But 
tell me honestly, do n't you like Campley ? 

Lady Har, The fellow is not to be abhorred, if the 
forward thing did not think. of getting me so easily— 
Oh, I hate a heart I can't break when I please- -What 
makes the value of dear china, but that 't is so brittle I 
—Where it not for that, you might as well have stone 
mugs in your closet- 
Lady Char. Iiist, hist, here '$ Fardingale. 



34 THE FUNERAL. AB II. 

Enter F audi ng ale. 
Far. Lady Harriot Lady Charlotte— I '11 entertain 
you now j I *ve a new song, just come hot out of the 
poet's brain. Lady Charlotte, ray cousin Campley 
writ it, and it 's set to a pretty air, I warrant you. 

Lady Har. *Tis like to be pretty indeed, of his 
writing. [Flings away. 

Far, Come, come, this is not one of your tringham 
trangkam, witty things, that your poor poets write ; 
no, *t is well known my cousin Campley has two thou- 
sand pounds a year ^ ■ ■ ■ — ■■But this is all dissimulation 
in you. 

Lady Char. 'Tis so indeed, for your cousin's song is 
very pretty, Mrs. Fardingale. [Reads, 

Let not lo've on me bestow, 
Soft distress and tender <woe ; 
Then pry thee give me> gentle boy, 
None of thy grief but all thy joy \ 
But Harriot thinks that a little unreasonable, to expect 
©ne without enduring V other. 

Enter Servant. 
Ser. There 's your cousin Campley to wait on you 

without- 

Far. Let him come in We shall have the song 

now 

Enter Cample y. 
Qamf. Ladies, your most obedient servant— Your 



■'jtSl II. THE FUNERAL, 35 

servant, lady Charlotte-— servant, lady Harriot*-- [Har- 
riot looks grave upon him.] What 's the matter, dear 
lady Harriot— Not well ? I protest to you I 'm mightily 
concerned-- -[Fulls out a bottle.] This is a most excel- 
lent spirit— snuff it up, madam. 

Lady Ear. Pish— the familiar coxcomb frets me 
heartily 

Camp. 'T will be over, I hope, immediately.- 

Lady Char, Your cousin Fardrngale has shewn us 
some of your poetry. 

Camp. You should not have called it my poetry. 

Far. Who waits there— Pray bring my lute out of 
the ^ext room— [Eater servant ivitb a lute.] You must 
know I conn'd this song before I came in, and find it 
will go to an excellent air of old Mr. Law's, who was 
my mother's intimate acquaintance : my mother's, 
what do I talk of? I .mean my grand-mother's --Oh, 
here 's the lute--- Cousin Campley, hold the song upon 
your hat, [Aside to him.] 'T is a pretty gallantry to a 
relation. [Sings and squalls. 

Let not love, &c. 
Oh> I have left off these things- many a day. 
• Camp, No j— -but are not assured enough-— Take it 
higher --[la her vwn squall.]-- -Thus-— I know your 
voice will bear it. 

Lady Har. 0h, hideous ! Oh, the gross flatterer— I 
shall burst— Mi o. Fardingale, pray go on, the music 
fits the words most aptly— Take it higher, as your 
cousia advises.. 



3^ THE FUNERAL. A8U, 

Far. Oh, dear madam, do you really like it-— I do 
purely to please you— for I can 7 t sing, alas ! 

Lady Char. We know it, good madam, we know 
it- —But pray— - 

Far t Let not love, and substantial blisses, is lively 
enough, and ran accordingly in the tune. [Curtsies to 
the company,'] Now I took it higher, 

LadyHar. Incomparably done ! nothing can equal 
it, exqept your cousin sang his own poetry. 

C imp. Madam, from my Lord Hardy]-— Delivers a 
letter to lLady Charlotte.] JJow do you say, my Lady 
Harriot, except I sing it myself 1 then I assure you I 
will. 

Lady Char. I haVt patience, I must go read my 

letter. [Exit. 

Far, Bless me 1 what's become of Lady Charlotte ? 

[Exit; 

Lady Har. Mrs* Fardingale, Mrs. Fardingale, what, 

must we lose you? [Campley runs to the door, takes the 

hey out, and locks her in.~\ What means this insolence ? 

a plot upon me. Do you know who I am ? 

Camp. Yes, madamj you 're my Lady Harriot 
Lovely, with ten thousand pounds in your pocket $ 
and I am Mr. Campley, worth two thousand a year-— , 
of quality enough to pretend to you— And I do design, 
before I leave this room, to hear you talk like a reason- 
able woman, as nature has made you. Nay, 't is in 
vain to flounce, and discompose yourself and your 
dress. 
Lady Ear, If there are swords, if they are men of 



1 



} cilL THE FUNERAL. 37 

honour, and not all dastards, cowards that pretend to 
this injured person— [Running round the room. 

Camp. Ay, ay, madam, let 'cm come— .Th -it 's put- 
ting me in my way, fighting 's my trade— but you 've 

used all mankind too ill to expect so much service 

in short, madam, were you a fool, 1 should not desire 
to expostulate with you [Seizing her hand. 

L.id> Ear. Unhand me, ravishes-!— -[Fulls her land 
from htm, and runs round the room, Campley after her. 

Camp. But, madam, madam, madam, why, madam ! 
Pry thee, Cynthia, look behind you, [Sings. 

Age and wrinkles will overtake you. 

Lady Har. Age, wrinkles, small pox, nay, any thing 
that *s most abhorrent to youth and bloom, were wel- 
come in the place of so detested a creature. 

Camp. No such matter, Lady Harriot 5 I would not 
be a vain coxcomb, but I know I am not detestable 
nay, know where you 've said as much, before you 
understood me for your servant. Was I immediately 
transformed because I became your loyer ? 

Lady Har. My lover, sir ? did I ever give ycu rea- 
son to think I admitted you as such ? 

Camp. Yes, you did in your using me ill— how do 
you answer yourself for some parts of vour behaviour 

9 to me as a gentleman Do but consider, madam, I 

have long loved you— bore with this fantastic humour 
through all its mazes-— Nay, do not frown— for 'tis 

no better 1 love with too sincere, too honest a 

eteyotion, and would have vour mind as faultless as 



$8 " THE FUNERAL. Acl H s 

your person, which *t would be, if you '11 hy aside this 
vanity- ^ ■ '[She walks about less violently) but more 
confused,'] Had I not better tell you of it now, than 
when you were in my power j I should be then too 
generous to thwart your inclination. 

Lady Har. That is indeed very handsomely said* 
Why should I not obey reason as soon as I see it*— 
[Aside.] Since so, Mr. Campley, I can as ingenuously 
as I should, then, acknowledge that I have been in an 
error. [Looking down on her fan* 

Camp. Nay, that's too great a condescension. Oh* 
excellence! 1 repent 1 I see 'twas but justice in you 
to demand my knees, {Kneeling] my sighs, my con- 
stant, tenderest regard and service — And you shall 
have 'em, since you are above 'em' 

Lady Har. Nay, Mr. Campley, you won't recall me 

to a fault you have so lately shewn me 1 will not 

suiter this— no more ecstasies 1 But pray, sir, what 
was 't you did to get my sister out of the room ? 

Camp. You may know it, and I must desire you to 
assist my Lord Hardy there, who writ to her by me— 

For he is no ravisher, as you called me just now. - 

He is now in the house-— — And I would fain gain an 
interview—- 

Lady Har. That they may have— But they '11 make % 
little use of it : for the tongue is the instrument of 
speech to us of a lower form : they are of that high 
order of lovers, who know none but eloquent silence, 
ana can utter themselves only by a gesture, that speaks 



'Jan. 



'jiB II. THE FUNERAL, $9 

their passion inexpressible— —and what not fine 
things. 

Camp. But pray let *s go into your sister's closet, 
while they are together. 

Lady Har. I swear I do n't know how to see my 
sister — she '11 laugh me to death to see me out of my 

pantoufies, and you and I thus familiar However, 

I know she 'il approve it. 

Camp. You may boast yourself an heroine to her, 
and the first woman that was ever vanquished by hear- 
ing truth, and had sincerity enough to receive so 
rough an obligation, as being made acquainted with 
her faults — Come, madam, stand your ground bravely, 
we '11 march in to her thus. 

[She leaning on Campley. 

Lady Har. Who '11 believe a woman's anger more ? 
I 've betray'd the whole sex to you, Mr. Campley. 

[Exeunt. 

Re-enter Lord Hardy and Campley. 
Gamp. My lord, her sister, who now is mine, will 

immediately send her hither But be yoursel f « 

Charge her bravely ■ I wish she were a cannon— 
an eighteen pounder for your sake— Then I know, 
were there occasion, you 'd be in the mouth of 

Lady Har. I long, yet fear to see her— —I know I 
am unable to utter mysel f 

Camp, Come* retire here 'till she appears. 



4° THE FUNERAL. AB II. 

Enter Lady Charlotte. 
Lady Char. Now is the tender moment now ap- 
proaching [Aside,] There he is [They approach and 
salute each other, trembling.] Your lordship will please 
to sit : [After a *very long pause, stolen glances, andir- 
resclu't gestures] your lordship, I think, has travelled 
m those parts of Italy, where the armies are— — 
L. Hardy. Yes, tnadam. 

Lady Char. I think I hav? letters from you, dated 
Ma.ntua. 

L. Hardy. I hope you have, madam— and that their 

purpose — - - 

Lady Char. My lord ? {Looking serious and confused. 
L. Hardy. Was not your ladyship going to say 
something f 

Lady Char. I only attended to what your lordship 
was going to say-— that is, my lord- --But you were, [ 
believe, going to say something of that garden of the 
world Italy— I am very sorry your misfortunes in 
England are such as make you justly regret your 
leaving that place. 

L. Hardy. There is a person in England may make 
those losses insensible to me. I 

Lady Char. Indeed, my lord, there have so very few 
of quality attended his majesty in the \var, that your 
birth and merit may well hope for bis favour. 

L. Hardy. I have, indeed, all the zeal in the world 
for his majesty's service, and most grateful aJTe&ioa 
for his person, but did not then mean him. 



dB 11. THE FUNERAL. 41 

Lady Char. But can you indeed Impartially say that 
our island is really preferable to the rest of the world, 
or is it arrogance only in us to think so? 

L. Hardy. I profess, madam, that little I have seen 
has but more endeared England to me ; for that medley 
of humours which perhaps distracts our public aifairs, 
does, methinks, improve our private lives, and makes 
conversation more various, and consequently more- 
pleasing — Every where else, both men and things have 
the same countenance. — In France you meet with 
much civility and little friendship; in Holland, deep 
attention, but little relied ion $ in Italy, all pleasure, 
but no mirth — But here with us, where you have 
every where nretendejrs, or masters in every thing, 
1 you can "c fall into company, wherein you shall not be 
*;uastnic~ted or diverted. 

Lady Char* I never had an account of any thing 
from you, my lord, but I mourned the loss of my 
brother — -you would have been so happy a companion 
for him — With that right sense of yours — My lord, 
you need not bow so obsequiously, for I do you but 
justice— — -But you sent rne word of your seeing a lady 
I in Italy very like me — —Did you visit her often? 

L. tiurdy. Once or twice ; but I observed her so 
loose a creature, that I could have killed her for having 
yo\:r person. 

Lady Char. I thank you, sir ; but Heaven that pre- 
1, serves me unlike her, will, I hope,, make her more 
like me — But your fellow-traveller — His relations 
themselves know not a just account of him. 
\ E 



4» THE FUNERAL. AS! IL 

L. Hardy, The original cause of his fever was a 
violent passion for a line young woman he had not 
power to speak to— but I told her his regard for her 
as passionately as possible. 

Lady Char. You were to him, what Mr. Campley 
has been to you — Whither am I running — Poor — your 
friend— Poor Gentleman. 

L. Hardy. I hope, then, as Campley's eloquence is 
greater, so has been his success. , 

Lady Char. My lord ? 

L. Hardy. Your ladyship's—— 

Enter Lady Harriot. 

Lady Har. Undone ! undone ! Tattleai J has found, 
by some means or other, that Campley brought my 
Lord Hardy hither j we are utterly ruined, my lady 's 
coming 

L. Hardy. I '11 stay and confront her. 

Lady Char. It must not be— we are too much in 
her power. 

+ Enter Campley. 

Camp. Come, come, my lord, we 're routed horse 
and foot — Down the back stairs, and so out. 

[Exeunt. 

Ladies. Ay, ay 

Lady Har. I tremble every joint of me—- 

Lady Char, I 'm at a stand a little, but rage will 
recover me ? she 's coming in » ■- » » " ■ * 



AiilU \ THE FUNERAL. 43 

Enter Widow. 

Wid. Ladies, your servant — I fear I interrupt you, 
have you company ? Lady Harriot, your servant, Lady 
Charlotte, your servant? Whatnot a word? — Oh, I 
beg your ladyship's pardon— Lady Charlotte did I say ? 
My young Lady Brumpton, I wish you joy. 

Lady Char. Oh, your servant, Lady Dowager 
Brumpton— That 's an appellation of much more 
joy to you- 

Wid. So smart, madam 5 but you should, methinks, 
have made one acquainted-— Yet, madam, your con- 
duel is seen through 

^ady Char* My conduct, Lady Brumpton I 
Wid* Your conducl, Lady Charlotte ! 

\Conungup to each other. 
Lady Char. Madam, 't is you are seen through all 
your thin disguises— 
Widow. I seen ! By whom ? 

Lady Char* By an all-piercing eye 5 nay, by what 
you much more fear, the eye of the world— The 
-world sees you, or shall see you: it shall know your 
secret intemperance, your public fasting— -Loose poems 
in your closet, an homily on your toilette— Your easy 
skilful practised hypocrisy, by which you wrought on 
your husband basely to transfer the trust and ward of 
us, two helpless virgins, into the hands and care of-— 
I cannot name it— You 're a wicked woman. 

Lady Bar* [Aside.] Oh, rare sister! 'T is a fine 
thing to keep one's anger in stock by one j we that 



44 T II E V UN E K A L . A3 1L 

are angry and pleased every half hour, have nothing at 
all of this high-flown fury ! Why, she rages like a 
princess in a tragedy ! Blessings on her tongue 

Wid. Is this the effecT: of your morning lectures, 
your self-examination, all this fury? 

L?Ay Char. Yes, it is madam; if I take paint t# 
govern my passions, it shali not give licence to others 
to govern 'ns for me 

Wid. Well, Lady Charlotte, however you ill deserve 
it of me, I shall take care, while there are locks and 
bars,^ to keep you from Lord Hardy— From being a 
legerlady, from carrying a knapsack. 

Lady Char. Knapsack ! do you upbraid the poverty 
your own wicked arts have brought him to— Knap- 
sack! Oh, grant me patience, can I hear this of the 
man I love ? Knapsack I I have not words. 

[Stamps about the room. 

Wid. I leave you to cool upon it $, love and anger 
are very warm passions ■ [Exit. 

Lady Har. She has locked us in— *— . 

Lady Char. Knapsack! Well, I will break wall* 
to go to him— I could sit down and cry my eyes out \ 
Dear sister, what a rage have I been in. Knapsack ! 
I '11 give vent to my just resentment—- Ob, how shall I 
avoid this-base woman, how meet that excellent man! 
—I hope 't is in fate to crown cur loves ; for it is only 
in the protection of men of honour, that we are natu- 
rally truly safe : — — 

And woman's happiness > for all her scorn, 

Is only by that side 'whence she e was born. [Exeunt. 



Mill. THE FUNERAL. 45 

A3 111, SCENE 1. 



Enter Lord Hardy, Campley, WTrim. 

L. Hardy. 
That jade Tattleaid* saw me upon the stairs, fori 
had not patience to keep my concealment, but must 
peep out to see what was become of you. 

Camp. But we have advice, however, it seems, 
from the garrison already — This mistress of Trim's is 
a mighty lucky accident 

Trim. Ay, gentlemen, she has free egress and re- 
gress, and you know the French are the best bred 
people in the world— she '11 be assistant—but, faith, I 
have one scruple that hangs about me— and that is — 
Look you, my lord, we servants have no masters m 
their absence— -In a word, when I am with mademoi- 
selle, I talk of your lordship as only a particular ac- 
quaintance, that I do Business, indeed, for you some« 
i. times— I must needs say, cries I, that, indeed, my 
Lord Hardy is really a person I have a great honour 
for. 

L. Hardy. Pish ! is that all ?— I understand you— • 
your mistress does not know that you do me the honour 
to clean my shoes or so, upon occasion— Pr'ythee, 
Will, make yourself as considerable as you please. 

Trim. Well then, your lesson is this She out of 

her respeft to me, and understanding Mr. Campley 
was an intimate of my friend my Lord Hardy, and 
j .. . E iil 



4* THE FUNERAL* ASl III. 

condescending (th'ough she is of a great house in 
France) to make mantuas for the -improvement of the 
English— which gives her easy admittance— -She, I say, 
moved by these promises, has vouchsafed to bring a 
letter from ray Lady Harriot to Mr. Campley, and 
came to me to bring her to him You are to under- 
stand, also, that she is dressed in the latest French cut $ 
her dress is the model of their habit, and herself of 
their manners.*— for she is But you shall see her— 

{Exit. 
L. Hardy. This gives me some life!— Cheer up, 
Tom. —but behold the solemnity—Do you see Trim's 
gallantry ? I shall laugh out. 

Enter Trim leadingin Mademoiselle 

Trim. My dear Lord Hardy, this is Mademoiselle 
d'Epingle, whose name you 've often heard me sigh— - 
[Lord Hardy salutes her.] Mr. Campley, Mademoiselle - 
d'Epingle. [Campley salutes her. 

Madem. Votre servante, gentlemen, votre servante. 

Camp. I protest to you I never saw any thing so be- 
coming as your dress— shall I beg the favour you 'd 
condescend to let Mr. Trim lead you once round the 
room, that I may admire the elegance of your habit. 

[Trim leads her round. 

L. Hardy. How could you ask such a thing ? 

Camp. Pshaw, my lord, you 're a bashful English 
fellow— You see she is not surprised at it— Oh, ma- 
dam, your air ! — the negligence, the disengagement 
®f your manner! Gh, how delicate is your noble 



ASt TIL THE FUNERAL. 4.7 

nation-— when stall you see an English woman so 
dressed ? 

Modem, De EngHse! poor barbarians, poopsavages, 
dey know no more of de dress, but to cover dere na- 
kedness [Glides along the room.~\ Deybecloded, but 
no dressed— But, Monsieur Terim, which Monsieur 
Campley? 

Trim, That 's honest Tom Campley- 



Camp. At your service, Mademoiselle- 



Madem, I fear I incur de censure, [Fulling out the 
letter, and recollecting as loath to deliver it.) but Mr. 
Terim being your intimate friend, and I designing to 
honour him in de way of an husband— So, so, how do 
I run away in discourse——! never make promise to 

Mr. Terim before, and now do it par accident 

Camp* Dear Will Trim is extremely obliging in 
having prevailed upon you to do a thing that the se- 
verity of your virtue, and the greatness of your quality 

! (though a stranger in the country you now honour by 
your dwelling in it), would not let you otherwise con- 
descend to- — — 

Madem. Oh, monsieur! Oh, monsieur! you speak 
my very thoughts- --Oh, I do n't know how ! Pardon 
me to give a billet — it so look ! Ob, fy ! I cannot stay 
after it— [Drops it, runs affectedly to the other end of the 
room, then quite cut, re-enters.] I beg ten thousand 

E pardons for go so mal-a-proposs. [Curtsies as going. 
L. Ear. Your servant, good madam—Mr. Trim, 

you know you command here pray, if Madame 

cTEpingle will honour our cottage with longer stay, 



48 THE FUNERAL. AB HI. 

wait on her in and entertain her- Pray, sir, be free—. 

Trim. My lord, you know your power over me, Tin 
all complaisance [Leads her out. 

Camp. Now to my dear epistle— 

< Sir, 

* There is one thing which you were too generous to 
touch upon in our last conversation— W% have reason 
to fear the widow's practices in relation to our fortune, 
if you are not too quick for her— I ask lady Charlotte 
whether this is not her sense to Lord Hardy -—She says 

nothing, but lets me write on These people always 

have, and will have admittance every where, therefore 
we may hear from you. 

* I am, Sir, 

* Your most obedient servant, 

Harriot Lovely.* 
My obedient servant ! Thy obedience shall ever be as 
voluntary as now— ten thousand thousand kisses on 
thee—- — Thou dear paper— Look you, my lord— » 
What a pretty hand it is ? 

L. Hardy. Why, Tom, thou dost not give me leave 
to see it— — you snatch it to your mouth so— — you'll 
stifle the poor h\dy * — » — 

Camp. Look you, my lord, all along the /lines, here 
went the pen, and through the white intervals her 
snowy fmgers. Do you see 3 thi3 is her name—— • 

L. Hardy. Nay, there 's 'lady Charlotte's name too 
in the midst of the letter-*—* Why; you'll not be m 



Ait UL THE FUNERAL, 4^ 

unconscionable— you 're greedy— you 'II give me 
one kiss snre - ' 

Camp. Well, you shall, but you Ye so eager— -do n't 
bite me— ..fur you shaVt have it in your bands- --there, 
there, there— Let go rr y hand- 

L, Hardy. What an exquisite pleasure there is in 
this foolery But what shall we do ? 

Camp. I have a thought ? pr'ythee, my lord, call 
Trim. 

L. Hardy. Ka, Trim — - — — 

Camp. Hold, Mr. Trim— You forget his mistress 
is there. 

^ L. Hardy. Gra'mercy— Dear Will Trim, step ia 
hither. 

Camp. Ay, that 's something* — 

Enter Trim. 

Trim, have not I seen a young woman sometimes 
parry Madame d'Epingle's trinkets for Jier, coming 
from my lady Brumpton's. 

Trim. Yes, you might have seen such a one, she 
waits for her now. 

Camp. Do you think ycu could not prevail for me 
to be dressed in that wench's clothes and attend 3 our 
mistress in her stead thither ? They 'ii not dream we 
should so soon attend again. 

Trim. Yes, I '11 engage. 

Cctmp. Then, we'll trust the rest to our good geniwsj 

I 'ii about it instantly Harriot Love!) 

\Excunt kissing the Uiter* 



5© THE FUNERAL. Aft III. 

Enter Widow and Tattleaid. 

Wid. This was well done of you ; be sure you take 
care of their young ladyships 5 you shall, I promise 
you, have a snip in the sale of them. 

Tat. I thank your good ladyship. 

Wid* Is that the porter's paper of how-d'ye's ? 

Tat. Yes> Madam, he just sent it up 5 his general 
answer is, that you are as well as can he expected in 
your condition : but that you see nobody, s 

Wid. That 's right — [Reading names~\ Lady Higgle* 
Lady Formal — Oh, that Riggle ! a pert ogler— an in- 
discreet, silly thing, who is really known by no man, 
yet for her carriage justly thought common to all ; 
and as Formal has only the appearance of virtue, $0 
she has only the appearance of vice ■ What 

chance, I wonder, put these contradictions to each 
other into the same coach, as you say they called 
Mrs. Frances and Mrs. Winnifred Glebe, who are 
they ? 

Tat. They are the country great fortunes, have 
been out of town this whole year 5 they aie^those 
whom your ladyship said upon being very well-born, 
took upon them to be very ill bred. 

Wid. Did I say so ? Really I think it was apt enough ; 

now I remember them Lady Wrinkle: Oh, that 

smug old woman i there is no enduring her affectation 
of youth 5 but I plague her j I always ask whether her 
daughter in Wiltshire has a grandchild yet or not—— 
Lady Worth ; I ca n't bear her company, she has so 



'ABIU. THE FUNERAL. 51 

much of that virtue in her heart, which I have in my 

mouth only. [Aside.] Mrs. After-day : Oh, that's 

she that was the great beauty, the mighty toast about 
town, that *s just come out of the small- pox; she is 
horribly pitted, they say ; I long to see her, and 
plague herwith my condolence. 'Tis a pure ill-natured 
satisfaction to see one that was a beauty unfortunately 
move with the same languor, and softness of be- 
haviour, that once was charming in her ; to see, I say, 
her mortify, that used to kill ; ha, ha, ha !— The rest 
are a catalogue of mere names or titles they were born 
to; an insipid crowd of neither good nor bad. But 
you are sure these other ladies suspect not in the least 
that I know of their coming ? 

Tat. No, clear Madam, they are to ask for me* 
Wid. I hear a coach — *-[Exit Tat.] I have now an 
exquisite pleasure in the thought of surpassing my 
Lady Sly, who pretends to have out-grieved the whole 
town for her husband. They are certainly comings 
Oh^no! here let me — thus let me sit and think— 
f Widow on her couch : while she is raving, as io herself, 
Tattleaid softly introduces the ladies,'] Wretched, dis- 
consolate as I am I Oh, welcome, welcome, dear, kill- 
ing anguish 1 Oh, that I could lie down and die in my 
present heaviness! Eut what — how? Nay, my dear, 
dear iord, why do you look so pale, so ghastly at me ? 
Wottoo, wottoo! fright thy own trembling, shivering 

Tat, Nay, good Madam, be comforted. 

Wid* Thou shalt not have me*—— [Pushes Tat»3 



5* THE FUNERAL. Aft JIL 

Tat. Nay, good Madam, 'tis I, 'tis I, your lady- 
ship's own woman. *Tis I, Nfadam, that dress you, 
talk to you, and tell you all that's done in the house 

everyday; 'tis I — — 

Vf'id. Is it then possible ? Is it then possible that I 

4 am left ? Speak to me not, hold me not ; I '11 break 

the listening walls with my complaints [Looks :ur~ 

' prised at seeing the company, then severely at Tattleaid.] 

Ah, Tattleaid!- — r 

ist Lady. Nay, Madam, be not angry at her 5 vre 
would come in sp'ite of her ; we are your fi lends, and 
are as concerned as you are. 

W'id. Ah, Madam, Madam, Madam, Madam, I am 
an undone Woman! Oh, me J alas! alas! Oh, Oh f 
[ All join in their notes.] I swoon ! I expire ! [Faints, 

id Lady. Pray, Mrs. Tattleaid, bring something 
that is cordial to her. . [Exit Tattlaakfc. 

yl Lady, indeed. Madam, yon should have patience 5 
his lordship was old. To die is but going befoie in a 
journey we must all take. 

Enter Tattleaid, loaded with bottles; ^d Lady la&.'s 
^ a bottle from her, and drinks* 

£±th Lady. Lord, how my Lady Fleer drinks ! 1 have 
beard, indeed, but never could believe it of her. 

[Drinks, also. 

1st Lady. But, Madam, don't you hear what* the 
town says of the jilt, Flirt, fat men iiked so much in 
the Farjt?'— — Hark \e— was seen with hiia m a 



Act III. THE FUKERAL. « 

hackney coach -" and silk stockings— — - key hole — v 
his wig — on the chair — — [Whispers by interruption. 

id Lady. Impudent flirt, to be found out ! 

id Lady. But I speak it only to you, 

$lb Lady. Nor I, but to one more. 

[Whispers next woman. 

$th Lady. I can't believe it ; nay, I always thought 
it, Madam. [Whispers the Widow, 

Wid. Sure 'tis impossible ! the demure, prim thing 
—-Sure all the world is hypocrisy — ■ — Well, I thank 
my stars, whatsoever sufferings I have, I have none in 
my reputation. I wonder at the men 5 I could never 
think her handsome. She has really a good shape and 
complexion, but no mien 5 and no woman has the use 
^©f her btauty without mien. Her charms are dumb, 
they want utterance. But whither does distraction 
lead me to talk of charms ? * 

1st Lr.dy. Charms! a chit's, a girl's charms!—— 
Come, let us widows be true to ourselves ; keep our 
countenances and cur characters, and a rig for the 
■maids, I mean the unmarried. 

7.4 Lady. Ay, since they will set up for our know- 
ledge, why should not we for their ignorance f 

^d Lady. But, Madam, o' Sunday morning at 
church, I curtsied to you, and locked at a great fuss 
in a glaring light dress, next pew. That strong, 
masculine thing is a knight's wife, psetends to all the 
tendeqaesa in the world, and would fain put the un. 
wieidiy upon us, for the soft, the languid. She has 
F 



'54- THE FUNERAL* AB III. 

of a sudden left her dairy, and set npfor a fine town 
lady 5 calls her maid Cisly, her woman, speaks to her 
by her surname of Mrs. Cherryfist, and her great 
foot-boy of nineteen, big enoogh for a trooper, is 
stripped into a lace-coat? now Mr /Page, forsooth. 

$ih Lady. Oh, I have seen her — Well, I heartily 
pity some people for their wealth; they might have 

been unknown else You would die, Madam, to 

see her and her equipage : I thought the honest fat tits, 
her horses, were ashamed of their finery \ they dragged 
on, as if they were all at plough, and a great bashful- 
look'd booby behind, grasp'd the coach, as if he had 
held one. 

St h Lady. Alas ! some people think there is nothing 
but being fine to be genteel : but 4:he high prance of 
the horses, and the brisk insolence of the servants in 
an equipage of quality are inimitable: but to our own 
beasts and servants. 

i st Lady. Now you talk of an equipage, I envy this 
lady the beauty she will appear in a mourning coach, 
it will so become her complexion ; I confess I myself 
mourned for two years for no other reason. Take up 
that hood there. Oh, that fair face with a veil. 

[ They lake up her hood. 

Wid. Fie, fie, ladies ! — -But I have been told, in- 
deed, black does become-' - 

id Lady. Well, I Ml take the liberty to speak it, 
there is young Nutbrain has long had (I Ml be sworn) a 
passion for this lady ; but I Ml tell you one thing I fear 
she Ml dislike, that is, he is younger than she is< 



AftlU. THE FUNERAL. $$ 

%d Lady. No, that *s no exception j but I 'il tell you 
one, he is younger than his brother. 

Wid. Ladies, talk not of such affairs. Who could 
love such an unhappy relicl: as I am ? But, dear 
Madam, what grounds have you for that idle story ? 

$th Lady. Why, he toasts you, and trembles where 
you are spoke of. It must be a match. 

Wid. Nay, nay, you rally; you rally; but I know 
you mean it kindly. 

jst Lady* I swear we do. 

[Tattieaid whispers the Widow. 

Wid; But I must beseech Jyou, ladies, since you 
have been so compassionate as to visit and accompany 
my sorrow, to give me the only comfort I can now 
know, to see my friends chearful, and to honour an 
entertainment Tattieaid has prepared within for you. 
If I can find strength enough, I *11 attend you 5 Ifut I 
wish fyou would excuse me, for I have no relish of 
(food or joy, but will try to get a bit down in my own 
chamber. 

1st Lady, There is no pleasure without you. 

Wid. Bur> Madam, I must beg of your ladyship not 
id be so importune to my fresh calamity, as to mention 
pfamrain any more. I am sure there is nothing in it. 
In love wich : Ue> quoth~a ! \ls led off. 

\Exeunt Lauies, &c* 

|f«to M.\!>:MOisELLn, and Campley in <woman"s 
doihesy cavrxing her things, 
Aadem. I am very ghd to be in de ladies anti- 



5^ THE FUNERAL.- A3 UU 

chamber 5 T was shamed of you, you yon such im- 
pudent look ; besides me wonder you were not seized 
by the constable, when you pushed de man into de 
kennel. 

Camp, Why, should I have let him kissed me ? 

Madem. No 5 but if you had hit him wit fan, and 
say, why, sure, saucy-box, it been enough \ beside 
what you hitred de gentleman for 6fTer kfsse me? 

Camp. I beg pardon, I did not knew you were 
pleased w'/h it. 

Mcidem. Please ! no ; but me rader be kisse den you, 
Mr. TerinVs friend be found out. Could not you say, 
when he kisse me, sure, sauce-box, dat's meat for 
your master. Besides, you take such strides when 
you walk—Oh, fie! desfe little pette tiny bits a woman 
steps. [Shewing her step. 

Ca*np. But, pr'ythee^ Mademoiselle, why have you 
lost your English tongue, all of a sudden ? Methoughty 
when the feiiow called us French whores as we came 
alor.g, and s id we came to starve their own people, 
you gave them pretty plain English \ lie was a dog, a 
rascal, you 'd send to the stocks-— 

Madem. Ha, ha, ha! I was in a passion, and be- 
trayed myself ; but you are ray lover's friend, and a 
man of honour, therefore know you will do nothing 
to injure us. Why, Mr. Campley, you must know I 
can speak as good English as you ; but I do n't, for 
fear of losing my customers: the English will never 
give a prite for any thing they understand. Nay, I 
&a.ye known some of your fools pretend to buy with 



Acllll. ci-WNlskiJ 57 

good-breeding* and give any rate, rather tban not be 
thought to have French enough to know what they are 
doing j strange and far-fetched things they only like ; 
do n't you see how they swallow gallons of the juice of 
tea, while their own -dock-haves are trod under root. 
Mum — my Lady Harriot. 

Enter Lady Harriot. 
Madame, votre servante, servante-«— - 



Lody Har. Well* Mademoiselle, did you deliver my 
letter ? 

Modem* Oui » 

Lady Har. Well, and how ? Is that it in your hard? 

Modem* Oui — 

\ Lady Har. Well, then, why don't you give it me? 

Modem. Oh, fie, lady! dat be so right Englise; de 
Englise mind only de words of de lovers, but de words 
of de lovers are often lie, but de action no lie. 

Lady Har. What does the thing mean ? Give me my 
letter. 

Modem. Me did not deliver your letter. 

Lady Har. No. 

Modem. No, me tell you me did k drop it to see Mr. 
Campley, how cavalier take it up. As dese me did 
drop it, so Monsieur run to take it up. 

[They both run to take it up,' Madem. takes if up. 

Dus he do— — deie de letter-— —Very well, very 
well. Oh, Tamour ! You act de manner Mr. Campley 
—-take it up better than I ; do you riot see it ? 

[They jcih run 3 Harriot gets it* 
Fiij 



5*S THE FUNERAL. J[£t UU 

. Lady Har. [Reads.] 

6 Madam, 

* I am glad you have mentioned what indeed I did 
fcot at that time think of, nor if I had should I have 
known how to have spoken of. But bless me more 
than fortune can, by turning those fair eyes upon, 
Madam, 

6 Your most faithful, 

* Most obedient humble servant, 

6 Thomas Campley. 1 
What does he mean ? — But bless me more, by turn- 
ing- Oh, 'tis he himself! [Looking about, observes 

Camp, smile.} Oh, the hoydon I the romp! — I did 
not think any thing could add to your native confi- 
dence 5 but you look so very bold in. that dress, and 
your arms fall off, and your petticoats, how they 

Camp. Mademoiselle voulez vouz de salville Teau 
de Hongrie, chez Monsieur Marchant de Montpelier 
— Dis for your teet. [Skewing bis trinkets.] De es- 
sencej a little book French for teach de elder broders 
make compliments. Will you, I say, have any thing 
that /I have ? Will you have all I have, Madam ? 

Lady Ear. Yes, and for the humour's sake, will . 
never Dart with this box while I live, Ha, ha, ha ! 

Catnp. But, Lady Harriot, we must not stand laugh- 
ing \ as you observe in your letter, delays are danger- 
ous in this wicked woman's custody of you 5 therefore, 
I must, Madam, beseech you, and pray, stay not on 
niceties, but bs advised. 



ABM. THE FUNERAL. 59 

Lady liar. Mr. Campley, I have no will but yours. 
Camp. Thou dear creature ! — But \Kisses her hand.} 
hark v e, then you must change dresses with Mademoi- 
selle, and go with me instantly. 
Lady Ear. What you please. 

Camp. Madame d'Epingle, I must desire you to 
comply with a humour of gallantry of ours : you may 
be sure I'll have an eye over the treatment you have 
upon my account— only to change habits with Lady 
Harriot, and let her go while you stay. 

Madem. Wit all my heart [Offers to undress herself. 
Lady liar. What, before Ml*. Campley ? 
Madem. Oh ? Oh, very Anglaise ! Dat is so Englise ; 
all women of quality in France are dress and undress 
by a valet de chambre, de man chamber-maid help 
complexion better den cle woman. [Apart to Har. 
Lany liar. Nay, that 's a secret in dress, Mademoi- 
selle, I never knew before ; and am so unpolished an 
English woman, as to resolve never to learn even to 
dress before my husband. Oh, indecency 1 Mr. Camp- 
ley, do you hear what Mademoiselle says? — 

Madem. Oh, hist i— Bagatelle. 

Lady liar. Well, we '11 run in, and be ready in an > 
instan:. [Exeunt Lady Harriot and ; Mademoiselle. 

Camp. Well, I like her every minute better and 
better. What a delicate chastity she has! These is 
something so gross in the carriage of some wives, (t ho" 
they are honest too) that they lose their husbands 
hearts for faults, which, if they have either good 
nature crgocd- breeding, they know not how to tell 



6o THE FUNERAL. Acl IV. 

them of* But, how happy am I in such a friend as 

Hardy, such a mistress as Harriot ! - 

Continue, Heaven, a grateful heart to bless , 

With faith in friendships and in love success* [Exit. 



ACTW. SCENE L 



Enter Widow and Trusty. 

Widow. 
Mr. Trusty, you have, I do assure you, the same 
place and power in the management of my Lord 
Bruiopton's estate, as in his life time. I am reduced 
to a necessity of trusting him. [dside.] However 
Tatrleaid dissembles the matter, she must be privy 
to Lady Harriotts escape, and Fardmgale is as de<?p as 
them both, and I tear will be their ruin, which it is 
my care and duty to prevent. Be vigilant, and you 
shall be rewarded. I shall employ you wholly in Lady 
Charlottes affairs, she is able to pay services done for 
" both. You have sense* and understand me. 

[Exit Widow* 
Trusty. Yes, Ida indeed understand you, and could 
wish another could with as much detestation as I do j 
but my poor old lord is so strangely, sobewitchedly 
enamoured of her, that even after this discovery of her 
wickedness, I see he could be reconciled to her ; and 
though he is ashafned i© confess to me, I know he longs 
to speak with her* If I tell Lord Hardy all, to make 



A3 il\ THE FUNERAL: Cl 

his fortune, he would not let bis father he dishonoured 
by a public way of separation. If things are acted 
privately, I know she will throw us all 5 there is no 
middle way; 1 must expose her, to make a re-imfon 
impracticable.- 



± 



Enter L01 d Hardy, Camp l e y , and T r i m . 

L« Hardy- I forget my own misfortunes, dear 
Campley, when I reflect, on your success. 

Camp. I assure you it moderates the swell of joy 
♦hat I am in, to think of your difficulties. I hope my 
felicity is previous to yours: my lady Harriot gives 
her service to you, and we both think it but decent to 
suspend our marriage, till your and lady Charlotte's 
affairs are in the same posture. 

L. Hardy, Where is my lady ? 

Camp, She is at my aunt's, my lord. But, my lord, 
if you do n't interpose, I do ml know hew I shall ad- 
just matters with Mr. Trim, for leaving his mistress 
behind me ; I fear he *ll demand satisfaction of me. 

Trim No, sir ; alas, I can know no satisfaction 
while she is in jeopardy \ therefore would rather be put 
in a way to recover her by storming the castle, or other 
feat of arms, like a true enamoured swain as I am. 

Enter Boy. 

Boy. There is one Mi\ Trusty below, would speak 
with my lord. 

L. Har. Mr. Trusty, my father's steward 1 What 
can he have to say to me ? 



**> THE FUNERAL Aft IV. 

Camp. He is very honest, to my knowledge. 

L. Har. I remember, indeed, when I was turned 
out of the house, he followed me to the gate and wept 
over me, for which, I have heard, he had like to have 
lost his place. But, however, I must advise with you 
a little, about my behaviour to him. Let us in. Boy 
bring him up hither ; tell him I '11 wait on him pre- 
sently.—^*// Boy.]— I shall want you I believe here, 
Trim. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Boy and Tr u st y. % 

Boy. My lord will wait on you here immediately. - 

[Exit. 
Trusty. 'T is very well. These lodgings -are but 
homely for the Earl of Brumpton. Oh, that damned 
strumpet! that I should ever know my master's Wife 
fo* such. How many thousand things does my head 
.run back to ? After my poor father's dealh, the good 
lord took me, because he was a. Captain in his regiment, 
and gave me education, I was, I think, three and 
twenty when this young lord was christened ■■■■ — What 
ado there was about calling him Francis! [V/ipes b:s 
eyes.'] These are but poor lodgings for him. I canne* 
bear the joy, to think that I shall save the family fro*'; 
which I have had my bread. 

Enter Trim. 
Trim. Sir, my lord will wait on you immediately; 
Trusty. Sir, 'tis my duty to wait on him-— r— [As 
Trim is going,] But, sir, are not you the young man 



A3 IV. THE FUNERAL. €$ 

that attended him at Christ-church, in Oxford, and 
have followed him ever since ? 

"Trim. Yes, sir, I am. 

Trusty. Nay, sir, no harm 5 but you '11 thrive the 
better for it. 

Trim. I like this old fellow 5 I smell more money: 
[Aside."] [Exit. 

Trusty. I think it is now eight years since I saw 
him ; he was not then nineteen, when I followed him 
to the gate, and gave him fifty guineas, which I pre- 
tended his father sent after him. 

Enter Lord Hardy. 

L. Hardy. Mr. Trusty, I am very glad to see you 5 
yon look very hale and jolly; you wear well j I am 
glad to see it— But your commands to me, Mr. 
Trusty ? 

Trusty. Why, my lord, I presume to wait upon your 
lordship My lord, you are strangely grown ; you 
are your father's very picture ; you are he, my lord 5 
you are the very man that looked so pleased to sec me 
look so fine in my laced livery to go to Court. 1 was 
his page when lie was just such another as you; He 
kissed me afore a great many lords, and said I was a 
brave man's son, that had taught him to exercise his 
arms. I remember he carried me to the great window, 

' and bid me be sure to keep in your mother's sight in 
all my finery. She was the finest young creature $ the 
maids of honour hated to see her at Court. My lord 

I then courted my good lady. She was as kind to me on 



6± THE F0NERAL. AB IV. 

her death-bed; she said to me, Mr. Trusty, take care 
of my lorcfs second marriage, for that child's sake : she 
pointed as well as she could to you $ you fell a crying, 
and said she should not die ; but she did $ my lord 5 she 
left the world, and no one like her in it. Forgive me, 
my honoured master, (Weeps •, runs to my lord, and bugs 
him.'] I Ve often carried you in these arms that grasp 
you, they were stronger then 5 but if I die to-morrow, 
you're worth five thousand pounds by my gift 5 'tis 
what I 've got in the family, and I return it to you with 

thanks But, alas, do I live tQ see you want it? 

L. Hardy. You confound me with all this tenderness 
and generosity. 

Trusty. I '11 trouble y»u no longer, my lord — but— 
L. Hardy. Call it not a trouble $ for— — 
Trusty. My good lord, I will not, I say, indulge my- 
self in talking fond tales, that melt me, and interrupt 
my story*— my business to your lordship, in one word, 
is this; I am in good confidence at present with myLady 
Dowager, and I know she has some fears upon her, 
vyhjch depend upon the nature of the settlement to your 

disfavour ; and, under the rose- be yourself *" ■? 

I rear your father has not had fair play for his life— bs 
composed, my lord. What is to be done in this ? — 
v/c 'd not apply to public justice in this case, till we 
. o fvU :ther, 't will make it noisy, which we must not 
!o, if I might advise. You shall, with a detachment 
I your company, seize theccrpseas it goes out of the 
house this evening to be interred in the country, 't will 
y;uly look like taking the administration upon yourself. 



AfrW. THE FUNERAL. 6$ 

and commencing a suit for the estate ; she has put off 
the lying in state, and Lady Harriot's escape with 
Mr. Carnpley makes her fear he will prove a powerful 
friend, both to the young ladies and. your lordship. — 
She cannot with decency he so busy, as when the corpse 
is out of the house, therefore hastens it. I know your 
whole affair: leave the dare of Lady Charlotte to me, 
I '11 pre . .-quaint her, that she may 'n't be frightened, 
and dispose of her safety to observe the issue. 

L. Hardy. I wholly understand you, it shall hedone. 

Trusfy. m l 'm sure I am wanted this moment for your 

interest at home. Tnis ring shall be the passport of 

intelligence, from whom yasu send to assault us, and 

, the remittance of it sealed with this, shall be authentic 

from within the house. 

L. Hardy. 'T i.s very well. 

Trusty. Hope ail you can -wish, my lord? From a cer- 
tain secret relating to trie estate, which I 'ii acquaint 
you with next time I see you. [Exit. 

L.Hardy. Your servant This fellow Vstramgely 

1 honest— Ha! Will. 

Enter Cample y and Trim. 
Will, do n't the recruits wait for me to see them at 
1 their parade before this house ? 

Trim, Yes, and have waited these three hours. 
L. Hardy. Go to them, I '11 be there myself immedi- 
j ately: we must attack with them, if the rogues arc 
sturdy, this \ery evening. 
G 



66 THE FUNERAL, Ac! IV. 

Trim. I guess where — I 'm oveijoy'd at it. I '11 
warrant you they '11 do it if I command in chief. 

L. Hardy. I design you shall, 

[Trim rum out jumping. 

Camp. You seem, my lord, to be in deep medi- 
tation. 

L. Hardy. I am so, but not on, any thing that you 
snay not be acquainted with. [Exit. 

Enter T 'rim, tyith a Company of ragged fellows, <witb 
a cane. 

j st Sol. Why then I find, Mr. Trim, we shall come 
to blows before we see the French——— 

Trim. Hark'e, friend, 'tis not your affair to guess or 
enquire what you ' are going to do, 't is only for us 
commanders——* 

2d Sol. The French! pox— -they are but a company 
t f scratching civet-cats—— —They fight ! 

Trim. Hark'e, do n^t bluster — were not you a little 
mistaken in your facings at Steenkirk ? 

ad Sol. I grant it 5 you know I have an antipathy to 

the French 1 hate to see the dogs — -—Look you 

here, gentlemen, I was shot quite through the body 
Look you. 

Trim. Pry'thee, look, where it entered at your back, 

id Sol. Look you, Mr. Trim, you will have your 
joke, we know you are a wit — —But wharfs that to ^ 
fighting man I 

Enter Kate. 

Kate. Mr. Trim*— Mr* Trim—? 



I 

lA&lV. THE FUNERAL. 67 

Trim. Things are not as they have been, Mrs. Kate, 
I now pay the company — —and we that pay money 
expect a little more ceremony—— 

Kate. Will your honour please to taste some right 
French brandy ? 

Trim. Art thou sure> good woman, 'tis right ?— 
[Drinks.] How — French — pray— nay, if I find you 
deceive me, who pay the men— — [Brinks m 

Kate. Pray, good master, have you spoke to my lord 
about me ? 

Trim. 1 have, but you shall speak to him yourself— 
thou hast been a true campaigner, Kate, and we must 
not iiegiecl thee— Do you sell grey pease yet of an, 
evening, Mrs. Matchlock— [Drinks again. 

Kaie. Any thing to turn the penny ; but I got more 
money by crying pamphlets this year, than by any thing 
I have done a great while' * -Now I am married inro 
the company again, I design to cross the seas next 
year. But, master, my husband, a Temple porter, 
and a Parliament-man's footman, last night by their 
talk made me think there was danger of a ptacej wny, 
they said all the prime people were against a war. 

Trim. No no, Kate, never fear, you know I keep 
great company 5 ail men are for war, but some would 
have it abroad, and some would have it at home in 
their own country* 

Kate. Ay, say you so ? — Drink about, gentlemen, 

not a farthing to pay $ a war is a war, be it where it will 

*, . . . . jiw But pray, Mr. Trim, speak to my lord, that 

when these gentlemen have shirts I may wash for them. 

Gij 



63 THE FUlAnAL. Aft IV* 

• Urim. I tell you, if you behave well to-night, you 
shall have a fortnight's pay each man as a reward $ but 
there ? s none of you industrious — theie 's a thousand 

things you mjght do to help our about this town- as 

to cry- puiT — puff pies. Have you any knives or 

scissars to grind— — or late in an evening, whip from 
Grub-street, strange tind bloody news frofh Flanders 
—votes from the House of ComrnQns- — — buns rare 
buns—old silver lace, cloaks, suits, or coats— i old 
shoes, boots, or hats. But here, here, here 's rrry lord 

s coming- -here 's the captain ; fall back into the 

rank — —There, move up in the centre. 

Enter Lord Hardy and C ample y. 
L. Ilr.rdy. Let me see whether my ragged friends 
ere ready and about me. 

Kate, Ensign Campley, Ensign Campley, I am 

overjoyed to see your honour — ha ! the world's surely 
altered, ha ! 

Camp. It is so, 'faith, Kate 5 why art thou true to 
the cause, with the company still, honest Amazon! 

Kate. Dear soul, not a bit of pride in hifn ; but won't 
your honour help me in my business with my lord ? — 
Soer'k ior me, noble eosig ', do. 

Cajnfc Speak to him yourself, I '11 second you. 

Kate. Noble captain, roy lord, I suopose Mr. Trim 
has told your honour about my petition : I have been 
a great sufferer in the service | 't is hard for a poor 
wosaan to lose nine husbands in a war, and no notice 
taken ; nay, three of them, alas ! in the same cam- 
paign: here the woman stands that says it, I never 



AB W. tHE FUNERAL. • 69 

stripped a man 'till I first tried if he could stand oa 
his legs, and if not, I think 'twas fair plunder, ex- 
cept our adjutant, and he was a puppy that made my 
eighth husband run the gauntlet for not turning his . 
' toes our. 

L. Hardy, Well, we '11 consider thee, Kate 5 but fall 
back unto the rear. A roil of what ? gentlemen 

soldiers.- — 

Trim to Bumpkin.] Do you hear that, my lord, him- 
self can 't deny but we are all gentlemen, as much as 
his honour. 

L. Hardy, reading.'] GQnt\(traQn. soldiers quartered in 
and about Guy- Court in Vinegar- Yard, in Rus*el- 
Court in Drury-Lane; belonging to the honourable 

captain Hardy's company of foot So, answer to 

your names, and march off from the left Corporal 

S-.' agger, march easy that I may view you as you pass 

by me j drums, Simon Ruffle, Darby Tattoo — 

there 's a shilling for you*— '—Tattoo, be always so 
■ tighc : how does he keep himself so clean ? 

Trim. Sir, he is a tragedy-drum to one of the play- 
houses.' 

L. Hardy. Private gentlemen-— Alexander 

Cowitch, Humphrey Mundungus, William Faggofy 
1 Nicholas Scab, Timotny Megrim, Philip : : ;r;ch, 
I Nehemiah Dust, Humphrey Garbage, Natha 'el 
Matchlock. 

Camp. What, is Matchlock come back to the com 
pany ? that 's the fellow that brought me off at Steeii- 
kirk, 

Giij 



70 THE rUSEHAL. .AcllV. 

L. Hardy. No, sir, "t is I am obliged to him for 
that [Offering to give him ?neney] 3 there, friend; you 
shall want for nothing, I '11 give thee a halbert too. 

Kate. O brave me I shall I be a Serjeant's lady — 
i' faith I 'il make the drums, and the corporals' wives, 
and company-keepers know their distance. 

Match. I was whipt from constable to constable — 

Trim. Ay, my lord, that 's due by the courtesy of 
England to all that want in red coats 5 besides there 's 
an acl: that makes us free of all corporations, and that 's 
the ceremony of it. 

Camp. But what pretence had they for using you so 
ill, you did not pilfer ? 

Match. I was found guilty of being poor. 

Camp. Poor devil ! 

L. Hardy. Timothy Ragg — Oh, Ragg! I thought 
■when I gave you your discharge just before the peace, 
we should never have had you again ; how came you 
to lisc now ? 

Ragg. To pull down the French king. 

L. Hardy. Bravely resolved but pull 'your shirt 

into your breeches, in the mean tir»e — jeolirey Tatter 
— what 's become of the skirts and buttons of your 
©pat? 

Tatter. In our last clothing, in the regiment I 
served in before, the colonel' had one skirt before, the 
agent one behind, and every captain of the regiment a 
button. 

L. Hardy. Hush,, you rogue, you talk mutiny. 

\8mitingj 



AtllV. THE FU ^ AL * 7I 

'Trim. Ay, sirrah, what jpve you to do with more 
knowledge than that ofe^pr right h?.nd from your 
j e r t ? •'' J/#£ J ^ * ^^ w ^ ^ /><?<*^- 

L. Hardy. Hugh Clump— -Clump, thou growest 
a little too heavy for' marching. 

Trim. Ay, my lord, but if we don 't allow f him the 
pav,* he 11 starve, foe $t V too lame to get inio the 
hospital. 

L. Hardy. Richard Bumpkin t IU ! a peafea country 
hick — how came you, friend, to be a soldier ? 

Bump. A n't please your honour I have been crossed 
in love, and am willing to seek my fortune. 

L. Hardy. Well, I \*e seen enough or them ; if you 
mind your affair, and aft. like a wise general, these 
fellows may do— come, take your order. [Trim 
ftits his stick on his hat, while my lord v. giving him the 
ring, and whispers orders. Well, gentlemen 9 do your 
business manfully, and nothing shall be too good f^r. 
you. 

j$H. Bless your honour* 

[Exeunt 1*. Hardy andCamxAey. 
'Trim. Now, my brave friends and fellow-soldiers 
« — - -[Aside. ] 1 must fellow-soldier them just before 
battle, like a true officer, though I cane them all the 
year round beside. [Strutting about.] Major-General 
Trim, no, pox, Trim sounds so very s^ort and prig- 
gish that my name should be a monosyllable I But 

the foreign news will write me, I suppose, Monsieur 
or Chevalier Trimont. Seigneur Trimoni, or count 
Trimuntz, in the German army, I shall perhaps be 



JZ / 'THE FUNERAL. 45lV. 

called 5 ay, that "s all the plague and comfort of us 
great: men, they do so toss our r — Bit, 

gentlemen* you are now i- n?.nd * 

Huzza! thrice — — faHi, this is ,..-, this 

grandeur? why, after all., it is upon the neck of such 
scoundrels as these gentlemen, that wc ptaias- 

build cur renown — —A million or two ^' ws 

make an Alexander, and as that -r said 

in the tragedy of him on the very s< going 

to storm for his Statira> so do I for my dear sempstres^ 
Madam d^Epingle. 
When I ruth on> sure nrne will dare to stay\ 
'Tis beauty calls, and glory leads the =zvav. 

[Exeunt* 



ACT V; SCENE L 

Enter Trusty and Lord Brumpton* 

Trusty. 
She knows no moderation in her good fortune—* 
You may hear her and Tattleaid laugh aloud-— -She 
is so wantonly merry. 

L. Brump. But this of Lady Charlotte is the very 
utmost of all ill-— -Pray read— but I must sit— my 
late fit of the gout makes me acl with pain and con- 
straint — let me see«— «» 

Trusty. She writ it by the page who brought it me* 
as I had wheedled him to do all their passages, 



ABV. THE FUNERAL. 73 

L. Brump. [Reads.]— ( You must watch the oc- 
casion of the servants being gone out of the house 
with the corpse : Tattleaki shall conduct you to my 
Lady Charlotte's apartment — away with her — and be 
sure you bed her—— — 

* Your affectionate sister, Mary Brumpton.' 

Brumpton ! The creature — She called a« Fi auk's 
mother was! — This is to forget her xcry humanity — 
her very sex. — Where is my poor boy ? wirere *s 
Frank? — does not he want ? — hew has he lived all this 

time ? — -not a servant, I warrant, to attend him 

what company can he keep ? — what can he say of his 
father ! 

Trnsty-r Though you made him not your heir, he is 

still. your son and has all the duty and tenderness 

in the work! for your memory-" — 

L. Brump. It is impossible, Trusty, it is impossible 

■ 1 will not rack myself with the thought. That 

one I nave injured can he so vary good' — Keep me in 
countenance — tell me he hates my very name * 
would not assume my title, because it descends from 
me. What *s Lis company ? 

Trusty, Young Tom Cample}', they are never 
asunder. 

L. Brump* I am glad he has my pretty tattler- 

the cheariui innocent— — —Harriot —I hope he *il 

be good to her — he 's good-natured, and well- 
bred 

Trusty, But, my lord, she was vejy punctual in or- 
dering the fimeral" ■ c she bade Sable be sure to lay 



74 THE FUNERAL. Acl V. 

your deep enough*— —she had heard such stories of 
the wicked sextons taking up people— but I wish, 
my lord, you would please to hear her and Tattleaid 
once more' 

L. Brump. I know to what thy zeal tends * «» But I 
tell you, since you cannot be convinced but that I 
have still a softness for her— —I behold her now 

with the same eyes that you do- she has a great 

wit but a little mind — something ever wanting to make 
her appear my Lady Brumpton she has no- 
thing natively great. You see I love her not— -I 
talk with judgment of her* —■ - 

Trusty. I see it, my good lord, with joy I see it ^ 

nor care how few things I see more in this world « 

my satisfaction is complete welcome old age 

— ^ welcome decay— 't is not decay, but growth to a 
later being. [Exit leading L. Brumpton* 

Re enter Trusty, meeting Oath net. 

Trusty. I have your letter, Mr. Cabinet. 

Cab. I hope, sir, you '11 believe it was not in my 
nature to be guilty of so much baseness \ but being 
born a gentleman, and bred out of all road of industry, 
in ( . ttic r :oo many are, I soon spent a small 

patrimoi [being ieb;.uched by luxury I fell into 

the narrow ..■ ■' to dread no infamy like povert — - 
whiiih rnade me guilty as that pap-^r tells you— and 
ha I no; writ to you, I am sure I never could have 
told you of it. 

Trusty, It is an ingenuous, pious penitence in you— » 



ASIV. THE FUNERAL. 75 

my Lord Hardy — fto whom this secret is inestimable) 
is a noble natured man— and you shall find bim such 
•— I give you my word— — 



Cab. I know, sir, your integrity- 



"Trusty. But pray be there — all that you have to do 
is to ask for the gentlewoman at the house, at my Lord 
Hardy's -, - she '11 take care of you—And pray have 
patience, where she piaces you, 'till you see me.— - 
[Exit Cab.] My Lord Kardy's being at an house where 
they receive lodgers, has allowed me convenience to 
place every body I think necessary to be by at her 
discovery — —This prodigious welcome secret ! I see, 
however impracticable honest actions may appear, we 
may go on with just hope. 

All that is ours, is to be justly bent, 

And Heanjen in its own cause will bless th" event. 

[Exit, 

Enter Widow in deep mourning, with a dead Squirrel 
on her arm, and T a t t l e a i d . 

V/id. It must be so— It must be your carelessness— 
What had the page to do in my bed-chamber? 

'Tat. Indeed, madam, I can't tell— But I came in 
and catch'd him wringing round his neck — 

Wid. Tell the rascal from me, he shall romp with the 

footmen no more— No- -I '11 send the rogue in a frock 

J to learn Latin among the dirty boys that come to 

good— I will— poor harmless animal— pretty ev'n in 

death. — — 



7 5 THE FUNERAL. £% jT 4 

Death might have over-look'd thy little life — 

How could'st thou, Robin, lea-./e thy nuts and me ? 

Cbearfully didst bear thy little chain, 

Cement— So I but fed thee with this hand. 

*Iat. Alas ! 'alas ! we are 'all mortal : consider, ma- 
dam, my lord 's dead too. 

Wid,Ay, but our animal friends do wholly die 5 
an husband or relation, after death, is regarded or 
tormented— —that 's some consolation — - — .1 know 
her tears are false, for she hated Robin always. [Aside."\ 
Eat she 's a well-bred dishonest servant, that never 
spec's a painful truth— — Bin I *ll resolve to conquer 

my affliction -Never speak mere of Robin- - 

Hide him there— — Rut to my dress How soberly 

magnificent is^blatskr— and the train— I wonder how 
widows came to wear such Ion;; talis ? 

Tat. Why, madam, the stateliest of all creatures 
hosthe longest tail 5 the peacock, nay, it has of all 
creatures the finest mien, too— -except your ladyship, 
who,are..a ph&A *-— — 

Wid* Ho] brave Fattleaid- — —But did not you ob- 
serve what a whir as; my Lady Sly made, when she 
had drank a little? Did you believe her? Do you 
think there are really people sorry for their husbands? 

Ktf. Really, madam, some men do leave their for- 
tunes in such distraction, that 1 believe it may be— 

[Steak's with pins in her -mouth \ 

Wid. Bat I swear I wonder bow it came up to dress 
us thus* *" But I protest I wonder how two of us thus 
cfad can meet with a grave face-*— me thinks they should 



Aft l r . T H E f U N E F. A L . 77 

laugh out like two fortune-tellers, or two opponent 

lawyers that know each other for cheats. 

Tat. Ha! ha! ha! I swear to you, nwidam, your 
ladyship's wit will choke me one time or othe r - 
I had like to have swallowed all the pins in my 
mouth—™ 

IVid. [A noise within.]— Ha! what noise is that — 
that noise of fighting — Run, I say — Whither are you 
going-?- What, are you mad — Will you leave me alone 
_ — Can y t you itir — What, you can 't take your 
message with you— -Whatever 't is, I suppose you are 
not in the plot ; not you S — Nor that now they r re 
breaking open my house for Charlotte— i-Not ycu — 

Go see what *s the matter, I say 1 have nobody I 

can trust One [Exit Tattleaid] minute I think 

this wretch honest, and the mxi false Whither 

shall I turn me! 

Tat. Madam ! — —Madam ! cf Re entering. 

L Madam, madarn, will you swallow me gaping. 

ii?/. fray, good my lady, be not so oat of humour 
company of rogues have set upon our 
8«rvan1 e bu*ial man's* while others ran away 

with the corpse-— 

. How, what can this mean ! what can they do 
a! Weil, 'twill save the charge. of internment— 
But to what end? 

Enter Trusty, and a Servant bloody and dirty, hauling 
in C L u M P a n < i E u M p k. i n . 

v% I "\i teach you better manner- — I 11 poor 

H 



g 7 THE FUNERAL, A&V* 

soldier you-^-you dog you, I will — Madam, here arc 
two of the rascals that were in the gang of rogues that 
carried away the corpse. 

Wid. We '11 examine them apart Well, sirrah, 

what are you ? whence came you ? what '3 your name, 
slrrali ? [Clump makes signs as a dumb man* 

Ser<v. O, you dog, you could speak loud enough 
just hdW, sirrah, when your brother rogues mauled 
Mr. Sable- we '11 make you speak, sirrah. 

V/id. Bring the other fellow hither— I suppose yon 
will own you knew triat man before you sa\t him at 
my door ? 

Clump. I think I have seen the gentleman's face, 

IB owing to Bumpkin, 

Wid. The gentleman's! the villain mocks me— * 
put, friend, you look like an honest man, what are 
you ? whence came you ? — What are you, friend ? 

Bump, I'se at present but a private gentleman, but 
J was listed to be a serjeant in my lord Hardy's com- 
pany*—— I'se not ashamed of my name, nor of my 
koptin" 

IVid. Leave the room all. [Exeunt all but Trusty 
tf^Tattleaid.]— Mr. Trusty-— Lord Hardy! O that 
impious young man-— thus, with the sacrilegious hands 
of rutfbns to divert his father's ashes frprn their urn, 
and rest — I suspecl this fellow. [Aside,'] Mr. Trusty 
I must desire you to be still near me— I '11 know the 
bottom of, this, and go to Lord Hardy's lodgings, as I 
am, instantly — 'Tis but the backside of this street, I 
think— :L,et a coach be ealled-^Tattleaid, as soon as I 



ASi V. THEFtfNERAt. 79 

am gone, conduct my brother and his friends to Lady 
Charlotte, away with her — bring Mademoiselle away 
to me, that she may not be a witness — Come, good 
Mr. Trusty* [Exeunt. 

Enter Lord Hardy, leading Harriot, Campley^ 
and^Tvau. 

Lady Har. Why then I find this Mr. Trim is a per- 
fect General— But were not you saying, my lord, you 
beiieveci Lady Brumpton would follow hither ? — It so> 
pray let me be gone— — — 

L. Hardy, No, madam \ I must beseech your lady- 
ship to stay, for there are things alledged against her 
which you, who ruve lived in the family? may, per- 
haps, give light into, and which I can't believe even 
she could be guily of. 

Lady Har. Nay, my lord, that *s generous to a 
folly, for even for her usage of you (without regard 
to myself), I am ready to believe she would do arry 
thing that can come into the head of a close, malicious, 
cruel, designing woman. 



. 



Enter Boy. 
Boy. My Lady Brumpton ? s below* " 

Lady Har. I '11 run then 

Camp. No, no, stand your ground ; you *re a sol- 
dier's wife. Come, we 11 rally her to death- — =- 

L. Hardy. Pr'ythee entertain her a little, while I go 
in for a moment's thought on this occasion. [Exit. 

Lady Har. She has more wit than us both 

Hi) 



80 THE FUNERAL, AFl V. 

Camp. Pshaw, no matter for that—Be sure, as 
soon as the sentence is out of my mouth, to clap in 
with something else— and hugh at all I say: I "13 he 
grateful, and burst myself at my pretty witty wife— 
We 11 fall in slap upon her — She shan't have time to 
say a word of the running away. 

? Enter Lady B rump ton end Trusty. 
O, my Lady Brumpton, your ladyship's most obedient 

servant. This is my. Lidy Harriot Campley Why, 

jmadara, your ladyship is immediately in your mourn- 
ing—Nay, as you have more wit than any body, so 
(what seldom wits have) you have more prudence coo — 
Other widows have nothing in readiness but a second 
husband—- but you, I see, had your very weeds and 
dress lying by you — • 

Lady Ear. Ay, madam \ I see your ladyship is of 
the order of widowhood, for you have put on the 
habit— — 

Wid. I see your ladyshrp is not of the profession of 
virginity, for you have lost the look on't-"— — 

Camp. You 're in the habit — That was so pretty; 
nay, without flattery, Lady Harriot, you have a great 
deal of wit, ha! ha! ha! 

Lady Bar. N. > my Lady Brumptos, here is the wo- 
man of wit j but indeed she has got but little enough, 
considering how much her ladyship has to defend— 
Ha! ha! ha! 

If id. I 'm sorry, madam, your ladyship has not 
what 's sufficient for your occasions, or that this pretty 



Aft V. THE FUNERAL. Si 

gentleman can't supply them — [Campley dancing about 
and trolling.'] Hey-day, I find, sir, your heels area great 
help to your head — They relieve your wit, I see \ and 
I do n't question but ere now they have been as kind 
to your valour — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Camp. Pox, I can say nothing, *t is always thus with 
your endeavours to be witty. [Aside.] I saw, madam, 
your mouth go, but there could be nothing offered in 
answer to what my Lady Harriot said— 'T was home— 
'T was cutting satire 

Lady Ear. Oh, Mr. Campley! But pray, madam, 
has Mr. Cabinet visited your ladyship since this ca- 
lamity How stands that affair now ? 

Wid. Nay, madam, if you already want instructions 
■I *11 acquaint you how the world stands, if you 
are in distress, but I fear Mr. Campley overhears us. 

Camp. I swear, Lady Harriot, were I not already 
yours, I could have a tendre for this lady. 

Wid. Come, good folks, I find we are very free with 
each other- What makes you two here ? Do you 
board my lord, or he you ? Come, come, ten shillings 
a head will go a great way in a family— What do 
you say, Mrs. Campley, is it so? Does your ladyship 
go to market yourself ?-— Nay, you are in the right of 
it— Come, can you imagine what makes my lord stay ? 
He is not now with his land steward--not signing 
leases, I hope — Ha! ha! ha! 

Camp. Hang her, to have more tongue than a maa 
and his wife too. [Aside. 

' H iij 



82 / TH^. FUNERAL. Ait T. 

Ente r Lord H a r d y. 

L. Hardy . Because yc<;r ladyship is, I know, in very 
much pain in company that you have injur'd, I '11 be 
short— -Open these doors ; there lies your husband's, 
my father's body, and by you stands the man accuses 
you pf poisoning hirn ! 

Wid^ Of poisoning him ! 

Trjisty. The symptoms will appear upon the corpse. 

L. Hardy. But I am seized by nature. How shall 
I view°. breathless lamp of clay-— him, whose high 
veins conveyed to me this vital force and motion* 
I cannot bear this sight 

o 

I am as frx'd and motionless as be * — 

[ They open the coffin^ eat of which jumps 
LcJy Charlotte. 
Art thou the ghastly shape my mind had form'd t 
Art* thou the cold inanimate— -Bright maid I 
Thou giv'st new higher life to all around. 
Whither does fancy, nVd with love, convey me! 
Why is my fair immov'd-~My heay'nly fair 3 
Does she but smile at my exalted rapture? 

Lady Char. Speak on, speak on, and charm my 
attentive ear: 
How sweet applause is from an honest tongue! 
Nor'r.ow with fond reluctance doubt to enter 
My spacious, bright abode, this gallant heart. 

\Reclines on Hardy. 
Lady Ear. Ay, marry, these are high doings in- 



Aft V. THE FUNERAL, gj 

deed 5 the greatness of the occasion has burst their 
passion into spe< ch— -Why, Mr. Campley, when we 
are near these fine folks, you and I are but mere sweet- 
hearts— -I protest, I Minever be won so; you shall begin 
again with me. 

Camp. Pr'ythee, why dost name us poor animals \ 
They have forgot there are any such creatures as their 
old acquaintance Tom and Harriot. 

L. Hardy. So we did indeed, but you '11 pardonus. 

Camp. My lord, I never thought to see the minute 
wherein I should rejoice at your forgetting me, but 
new I do heartily. [Embracing. 

IFid. Sir, you 're at the bottom of all this 1 see 

your skill at close conveyances— I '11 know the mean- 
ing instantly of these intricacies^ 'tis not your seeming 
honesty and gravity shall save you from your deserts 
*i v * 'My husband's death was sudden— you and the 
buriai fellow were observed very familiar- — -Produce 
my husband's body, or I '11 try you for hh murder 5 
which I find you'd put on me, thou hellish engine? 

Trustj. L:ok you, madam, I could answer you, but 
I scorn to reproach people in misery— -you 're undone, 
mad a m- 

hid. What does the dotard mean? Produce the 
tody, villain, or the law shall have thine for it— 
[Trusty exit, hastily,] Do you design to let the villain 
escape ? How justly did your father judge, that made 
you a beggar with that spirit?— You mentioned just 
now you could not bz:^? the company of those you'd 
iftjtir'd. 



S4 The funeraI. AB V. 

L. Hardy. You are a woman, madam, and my fa- 
ther's widow— but sure you think you 've highly in- 
jured me. 

[Here my Lord and Trusty half enter and observe. 

Wid. No, sir, I have not, will not injufe you---Irnust 

obey the will of my deceased lord to a tittle 1 must 

justly pay legacies. Your father, in consideration 
that you were his blood, would not v/holJy alienate 
you— he left you, sir, this shilling, with which estate 
you are now Earl ofBrumpton. 

L. Hardy. Insolent woman- -It was not me my good 
father disinherited, 'twas him you represented. The 
guilt was thine, he did an acl of justice. 

Lord Brumptor entering <wiib Trusty. 

L, Bramp, Oh, unparallelled goodness ! 

Trusty. Oh, Tattieaid— his and our hour is come ! 

Wid. What do I see, my lord, my master, husband, 
living ! 

L, Brump. [ Turning from her, running to his son.] Oh 1 
my boy, my son— — Mr. Camplcy —Charlotte— -Har- 
riot-— \_Ml kneeling to him.'] Oh, my children, I shall 
expire in the too mighty pleasure ! my boy I 

L. Hardy. A son, an heir! a bridegroom in , one 
hour \ Oh, grant me Heaven, grant me moderation ! 

Wid. A son, an heir! Am I negle&ed then ? 
What ! can my lord revive, yet dead to me? 
Only to me deceased - to me alone, 

Deaf to my sighs, and senseless to my moas ? 



AS! V. THE FUNERAL, 85 

L. Br ump. 'Tis long since I haye seem plays, good 
madam, that I know not whence thou dost repeat, nor 
can I ans 

You can remember through a certain settle- 

:h I am thy son and heir— great Noble, 

)t taken from a p : *s as irfevo- 

as law can make it. 

Trusty. Value her not, mylordj a prior t bjigation 

iv.:, : iag on hej , your w i 

L. Brmp. T does distract 

inde ;d . by any honest 

3Ut, aias, I knovi no prior gift that avoi is this 
to her. 

Trusty. Loo!: yon. madam, 1 11 cone aga n imi 
»tely r — Be not troubled, my dear lords — — ^ [Exit, 

^.Trusty looks very confident, there is s 
good in that. 

Re -enter Trusty uchb Cabinet. 
Cab. What ! my lord Brumpton living 5— —nay 

tker, , 

, sir, you must not stir, nor can yon, 
sir, retrac~t this Lre your hand -writing- -T ly U 
gent ased death bout 

the hoyce to speak with iny lady, or rat 
upon your him, in hopes, I 

foj e -- Nov., a 
pn • ito your closet ■" ■ ■ -where 

he saw your lordship i .-.., ---struck or, 

and believing himself (as well he might) the di 



26 THE F UNRRAL. jgf m 

of your ghost for alienation of your fortune from your 
family-he writ me this letter, wherein he acknow- 
ledges a private marriage with this lady half a year 
before you ever saw her. 

All. How ! [Ail turn upon her disdainfully. 

Wid. No more a widow then, but still a wife. 

[Recovering from her confusion. 

I am thy wife thou author of my evil. 

Thou inust partake with me an homdy board, 
An homely board that never shall be chearful 5 
Butev'ry meal embitter'd with upbraidings, 
Thou that couid'st tell me, good and ill were words, 
Thou that could'st basely let me to another, 
Yet could'st see sprights, great unbeliever! 

Coward ! bugg-bear'd penitent 

Stranger henceforth to all mv joys, my jays, 

To thy dishonour : despicable thing, 

Dishonour thee ! Thou voluntary cuckold I 

Thou disgrace to thy own sex, and the whole human 

race ! 
May scorn and beggary pursue thy name, 
And dark despair close up a life of shame. 

[Cabinet sneaks off. Widow flings after kmt, 

T&ttlezid following. 

L Brump. I see you 're all confusM as well as I— 

Ye are my^children— I hold you all so. And for your 

own use will speak plainly to you. I cannot hate that 

woman : nor shall she ever want. Though I scorn to 

bear her injuries yet had I ne'er been roused 

from that low passion to a worthless creature---- but by 



ARV. THE FUNERAL. &7 

disdain of her attempt on my friend's child. lam 
glad that scorn 's confirmed by her being that fellow's 
.-whom for my own sake I only will contemn. Thee, 
Trusty, how shall we prosecute with equal praise and 
thanks for this great revolution in our house. 
* Trusty. Never to speak on *t more, my lord. 

L Brump. Now, gentlemen, let the miseries which 
I have but miraculously escaped, admonish you to 
have always inclinations proper for the stage of life 
you are in. 

You who the path of honour make your guide, 

Must let your passion with your blood subside j 

And no untim' d ambition, love, or rage, 

Employ the moments of declining age ; 

Else boys will in your presence lose their fear, 

Jlnd laugh at the grey head they should revere, 

[Exeunt omnes. 



EPILOGUE. 



LOFE, hope, and fear, desirs, aversion, rage, 
AH that can mcve the soul, or ca?z assuage, 
Are drawn in miniature of life, the stage. 
Here you can view yourselves , and here is shown. 
To what you ^reborn in sufferings not your own* 
The stage to wisdom *J no fantastic way, 
Athens herself learn d virtue at a play. 
Our author me to-night a soldier drew \ 
Bui faintly writ, what warmly you pursue; 



8$ r ■■- ilogue. 

To his great purpose , had he equal fire, 
He y d not aim to please only, hut inspire ; 
lie* d sing what £o<vering f die attends our isle, 
And from base pleasure rouse to glorious foil. 
Full time the earth f a nevj decision brings, 
Whde William glues the Roman eagle wings \ 
With arts and arms shall Britain tamely e?id, 
Which naked Picls so bravely could defend; 
"The psiinted heroes on W invaders press, \ 
And think their wounds addition to their dress : 
In younger) ears vie ''ve been with conquest blest, 
And Paris has the British yoke confessed; 
Is '/ then in England, in blessed England known, 
Her kings are nam* 'd from a revolted thrdne?. 
But we offend -~~*~~¥o:i no examples need-, 
In imitation of yourselves proceed 5 ' 
"JVj you your country 's honour must secure-, 
Be all your acHons worthy ofNatnur : • 
With gentle fires '"your galicmtryjmprove ; 
Courage is brutal, if untouch d with love. 
Jf soon our utmost bravery ' s net display' d^ 
Think that bright circle must he captives made 5 
Let thoughts of saving them our toils beguile, 
And they reward our labours with a smile. 



THE END. 



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